


Don't You Know All the Best Ones Are Crazy

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is...
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's not looking for anything, which is why he finds it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Know All the Best Ones Are Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. Written pre-TAI break up, and also something that wouldn't get out of my head. I hope you like it.

  
The thing that keeps going through Pete's mind is that he wasn't looking for anything. He should be used to it by now, the fact that that's when everything happens to him, blindsiding him and knocking him upside the head before he realizes everything is changing.

It's a Thursday, which isn't that important, except that Thursdays are the days he usually doesn't have Bronx pre-school duty, and so he conducts as much business as he can on the phone and in coffee shops and air conditioned offices, pretending he's a real boy. He's at a Starbucks he doesn't usually go to but that's close to his lawyer's office. Lawyers' offices require caffeination and pastries, preferably stuffed with chocolate, so he stopped in.

He normally gets his stuff to go, in and out and no hassles, but while he's waiting for his drink he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He turns, smile plastered on, ready to be _Pete Wentz_ , even though today's one of those days where he'd pretty much rather be anyone else.

"Pete?"

His fake smile turns into a frown and then transforms into the real thing. "Holy shit. Courtney?" She looks too much like Bill for him not to recognize her, even though it's been a while since he's seen her and she never really ran in their circles anyway. But she's got those Beckett eyes and that Beckett smile, and right now it feels like the best thing in the world. "Wow. Hi."

"Hi. I thought it was you at first, but then it seemed weird, right? But then I saw the Clan logo and I thought it was either you or someone pretending to be you. Hi." She laughs. "You know, I thought maybe you wouldn't recognize me."

"Well, you're grown up. More grown up. Taller." He doesn't blush, but he can feel heat burning at the base of his throat. "Hi." She laughs again, and he smiles. He figures everything's okay if he can make her laugh. Of course, laughter doesn't make everything _right_. He's learned that lately, too. "You're in LA."

"Yeah. Based out of here mostly these days. You know, advertising photography, that sort of thing." His name gets called and she glances over to the barista. "That's you, I guess. It was good to see you."

"You too. I mean, no."

Courtney's eyes widen, but she's smiling still. "No?"

"No, I mean, yes. It was good to see you. Is good. It's good to see you. Don't go." He laughs at himself, which is something else he still does, which he's pretty sure is good too. If he can laugh at himself, it means _he's_ okay. "I mean, I don't have anywhere I have to be right now, and if you don't either, we could enjoy this caffeinated beverage together. Not this one. Multiple beverages. One for each of us. Or more if you're really thirsty."

"I actually have some shots to take down the street." She nods to her camera stuff, which is propped against a chair at a table nearby. He nods, already ready to let her make her excuses. "You want to come with?"

"No, it's cool, I…what?"

"Come with me. It's all steady shots of a building. You can be my assistant." She smiles at him, and _God_ , she really does have that stupid Beckett smile that always makes him smile back. "I won't pay you though."

"You're sure? I mean, I don't know anything about photography."

"Bullshit." She grabs her camera bag and tripod as well as a coffee as big as Pete's. "You've been around cameras as much as I have."

"Yeah, but I don't think me making ridiculous faces will be that much of a help to you." He takes the tripod and falls in step beside her. She's got the same long legs as her brother, but manages to cut her stride down to match his. "And that's what the majority of my photography experience comes down to."

"Do you know what 'bring me that' means?"

"Yeah. I've had dogs. And I have a kid."

"What about 'don't let those people walk in front of me'?"

"Yeah. I've got that."

"Then we're good." She takes a sip from her coffee and nods toward an old building Pete thinks he's seen in a movie. "That's the place."

"You really don't mind me helping? I mean, I can be a distraction."

"You're not that cute, Wentz."

"No, I mean…" He feels the heat burning at his throat again and swallows down a huge mouthful of coffee. "People recognize me. And stuff."

"I'm pretty sure that the venerable historical society of greater Los Angeles doesn't give a shit about you, sorry." She nods to the engraved door handle. "Can you get that for me?"

"Yeah." Pete curls his hand around the door and swings it open, letting the rush of anachronistic air conditioning spill out of the old building. "Ladies first."

"You know I've met you before, right?" She's smiling, and Pete smiles back, aware that it's been a long time since someone's teased him. "Don't try to act like a gentleman this late in the game."

**

It's interesting watching her work, seeing the way she commands the camera. She has a confidence that's reminiscent of William's when he's on stage, a complete surety that she knows what she's doing. There are a few people who arrive for the shoot, some in modern clothes and others in costume, and she's firm with all of them, very clear in what she wants. He notices one or two of them look at him strangely, like they think they recognize him. They're all professionals, though, and in LA nothing is worse than not being sure.

He learns which lenses are which and he asks questions about what she's doing, what filters do what and why she'd want that effect. She never loses her patience, even though he's pretty sure he sounds like Bronx. _Why? Why? Why?_. She's got a great voice for explanation, putting it into terms he understands and answering questions he hasn't even asked yet.

He helps her pack up after the models are done."You know, coming at it from this end, I'm thinking I need to call a whole bunch of photographers and apologize."

She laughs, her eyes crinkling up, and Pete smiles back at her. He was actually usually fairly well-behaved on photo-shoots, but he knows there were a few that were during downswings. "Once you've worked with kids, models and rock stars aren't that big a deal."

"That's right. You've actually photographed KISS. Like, real rock stars." Pete looks around, making sure nothing's left behind. "This was really cool. Thanks for inviting me along."

"Thanks for keeping me company. I hope I didn't keep you from anything fun or important."

"No little dude today, so my schedule was wide open. I tend to keep the time after lawyer visits and therapy appointments open for potential nervous breakdowns."

"Efficient." She swings her bag on her shoulder and reaches out for the tripod Pete's holding. "Let me know if you want another lesson in being my roadie."

"Let me take you to dinner." Courtney's eyebrow goes up eloquently and Pete shrugs. "What?"

"Why would you do that?"

"Because we're old friends…ish type people. And we've had a nice day and I don't have a lot of friends around here right now, and I'm starving." Courtney looks at him for a few moments, and Pete shifts, a little surprised that he's nervous. It doesn't make any sense. He doesn't have a reason to be nervous. "Well?"

"Depends." She fights a smile, the corners of her mouth lifting. "Where are you going to take me?"

"Well, where do you want to see yourself? The Enquirer, The Star, People, Us, or In Touch?"

"I get a choice?" She stops fighting the grin, letting it transform her face. "I wonder if I'm breaking some sort of photographer code if I get my picture taken with you."

"You could get run out of the paparazzi union." He widens his eyes in a look of mock horror. "You could get shunned."

"Being shunned by the paparazzi would be horrible."

"It would be. I'd have to hang around you _always_." He laughs and takes the bag from her shoulder, draping it over his own. "We could drive through and get something, go back to my place."

"You forget, I'm related to William Beckett. I've heard that line before."

"Ha. Well." He shakes his head, his smile fading a little. "I can promise that's not what's going on here. I have no etchings to show you."

"No one ever does. Etching is a dying art." She takes it in stride, not letting his reaction faze her. He's kind of impressed. "Plus, you know, it's weird that it was really ever popular. I mean, what says creepy guy more than 'let me show you art I make by burning stuff with acid and fire'."

"You know that's what Andy does, right?"

"Are you implying that The Butcher isn't creepy?" She raises an eyebrow at him and Pete laughs out loud. "That's what I thought."

"I have totally been missing out. I could have been hanging out with you for ages. Man." He follows her back to the coffee shop and glances around. His car is the only one in the lot. "You need a ride?"

She takes the tripod from him. "My car's just down the street."

"Oh." He shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and rocks up onto the balls of his feet. "I could wait here for you? You could follow me to my place or to food or whatever."

"You don't have to take me to dinner, Pete."

"I know. Which is good, because I usually suck at doing the things I _have_ to do. I want to do this. And the wanting is something I'm good at." He realizes how that sounds and laughs at himself. "Shit. I keep sticking my foot in my mouth."

"Only if I assume you're propositioning me." She chews her lower lip for a second, and he gets stuck on watching her. He's used to people being deliberate around him, and she seems completely the opposite. "Why don't you give me a ride to my car and you can follow me to my place? Less chance of photographers."

"If we're going to your place, there's a 100 percent chance of photographers."

She barks a quick laugh and pushes at his arm. Pete falls to the side a little, hamming it up, and Courtney shakes her head. "I'll even cook."

"Do you cook better than your brother?"

"I don't cook _worse_."

"Good enough." Pete beeps the locks on the car. "Let's go."

**

She has a little place not too far from Silverlake, a small mother-in-law cottage tucked back behind a pink stucco house with red bougainvillea crawling all over it. It's basically a glorified studio apartment, since the interior walls don't go all the way to the ceiling, though they do block her bed from the rest of the rooms. There's a closet with a gun safe inside it and she stashes her camera equipment and laptop in there before moving to the kitchen. Pete walks around, picking up things from shelves and tables and turning them over, incapable of standing still.

"Spaghetti okay?"

"Yeah." He picks up a spire-shaped Lucite block, reading the inscription on the metal plaque on the base. "Hey. You won an award."

"Yeah. All photography awards are shaped like weapons so we can shiv any competition." He hears pots and pans rattling so he sets the award back down before he's tempted to push his finger against the pointed top and see how much pain it would produce. "I also have a third place ribbon from a sprint event in high school. It's just as impressive."

He walks over to the bar that separates the kitchen from the rest of the room. There are two mismatched stools, so he climbs on one, hooking his feet in the legs. "Third, huh? With those legs?"

"You're a runner, right? You and Carden have that thing. That…" She waves a hand at him, as if to demonstrate some quality. "Running thing."

"What's a running thing?"

"I don't know. Like a…vibe you give off. That healthy, glowing…thing." She makes a face.

"I have a two year old. I have no choice but to run." He picks up a pile of CDs on the counter and looks through them without comment. He recognizes William's eclectic tastes. "He's like a little speed demon."

"I bet." She smiles and pulls a mason jar out of the cupboard, prying the lid off and pouring it into a pot. He's hit by the smell of garlic and oregano and pepper and his stomach rumbles. "It's homemade. My grandma taught me how to can it."

"You're not a real person, are you?"

"What?" She gives him a strange glance and he shrugs, embarrassed.

"You're nice, you're funny, you can…can things."

"I can marinara sauce. It's not rocket science. It was something my mom and I used to do together when I was a kid." Something passes over her face, and Pete recognizes the expression. It's like a do not cross sign, the same one that William wears when discussion turns too closely to when he was young. "Turkey meatballs okay?"

"Yeah. Absolutely."

She busies herself and he watches her, wondering if he should offer to help. The kitchen's not actually big enough for both of them, and he'd most likely end up in her way more than anything.

"I could help?" He doesn't actually mean it as a question, but it comes out that way. She glances over at him, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

"How do you feel about salad?"

"I'm a fan."

"There's stuff in the fridge, I think. Well, I know. But it's from the farmer's market last week, so I think it's still good."

Pete slides off the stool and roots around in the refrigerator, coming up with lettuce, spinach, a cucumber and some carrots. Courtney hands him half of a red onion before she guides the other half of it, diced neatly, into a pan of hot olive oil. "When I lived alone, I lived off Top Ramen and grilled cheese sandwiches."

"That's tomorrow night's menu." She grins at him. "I'm sort of an optimistic shopper. I hope that, by buying fruits and vegetables, I'll actually eat them."

"Does it work at all?"

"Usually I end up eating them all right before they're about to turn bad because I feel guilty about throwing them out. Unless I have company."

"How often is that?"

"Company?"

"Yeah."

"Including you?"

He uses the cutting board she'd had for the onions as he slices the cucumber and carrots. "Yeah."

She stirs the onions and garlic, and Pete gets hit with a wave of aroma that makes his stomach growl again. "Bill was over a couple months ago."

"Right. But you date too, right?"

"Yeah. But that doesn't mean I bring them home for dinner." Her shoulders stiffen as she turns back to the pan, giving it another stir before pouring the contents into a bowl with the ground turkey.

He focuses on the salad rather than risk offending her more. She moves around him to the fridge for eggs and then into the cabinet over his head for a thing of breadcrumbs. The silence gets oppressive and he starts talking again, just to break it. "I'm sorry." He piles the shredded and diced vegetables in the wooden bowl she's set on the counter for him. "I wasn't implying anything. I just…you're gorgeous and smart and funny, and I figured…I don't know. That there'd be somebody. Maybe several somebodies."

"Maybe not everybody needs somebody."

"I don't believe that."

The snap of the noodles is loud in the silence. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Everyone needs companionship."

"Would _you_ settle for that?" Pete opens his mouth to respond then snaps it shut. Courtney shrugs. "People need people, sure. I have family and friends for that. I don't want someone I'm just passing the time with to have a door into my life."

"That's not what I meant."

She sighs and pulls a bottle of wine out from a lower cabinet. "Sorry. William and I have this fight."

He can tell by her smile that he probably looks honestly surprised. "Are we fighting?"

"No. I think I assumed that you were on the same bandwagon as him. The 'I'm with someone and have a kid and it's awesome' thing where he thinks that's what I need to be happy too."

"But you don't think that."

"I think I'm twenty-three and maybe I don't want to decide the rest of my life right now."

"Fair enough." He uncorks the wine and pours two glasses while she stirs the pasta. "By the time he was your age, he had a kid."

"Yes." She nods and winks at him, and her smile chases all the darker thoughts from the room. "Which is why I'm _very_ good about birth control."

Pete hands her a glass and taps his against it. "I'll drink to that."

**

The bottle's gone by the time they stop eating the dregs of the salad and Courtney stops him, with a soft touch on the back of his hand, from picking apart and destroying the last piece of garlic bread. They move over to her sofa, a threadbare, beaten-down thing she tells him she found for free on the sidewalk. It's the most comfortable thing Pete has ever experienced.

"I'm never getting off your couch. I'm moving in with your couch. Hell, I want to marry your couch and make sweet, sweet love to it."

She raises an eyebrow and smiles. "You do know how creepy that sounds, right?" Her eyebrow lifts even higher when he opens his mouth. "Even for you."

"It's a really comfortable couch." He picks up the second bottle of wine and refills her glass, then leans back against the arm of the couch. "Maybe I'll take it home with me."

"You have room for a random couch?"

"I have room for lots of stuff. Ash took some furniture. I have gaps."

"You could rearrange the furniture you have. That way I still have something to sit on."

"I would invite you over to visit the couch."

"Your generosity in sharing custody of my couch is wonderful, but it's mine. You can't have it." She loops her arm over the back and hugs it close. "Don't even try it."

Pete grins and rests his head on the cushion. "Okay, okay. I'll give up on the couch. For now." He sighs softly, covering his mouth as it turns into a yawn. "Shit. Sorry."

"What time is it?" She glances at the clock and her eyes widen, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stop a giggle. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"It's four in the morning."

"No."

"Well, okay, possibly it's four in the afternoon, but probably not, since it's dark outside still." He follows her gaze as she looks out the window, seeing the telltale lightening of dawn creeping at the edges of the darkness. She yawns, and Pete suddenly realizes he's had a lot of wine and he's tired. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He yawns again and laughs. "Now we won't be able to stop."

"There's one way to stop."

"Yeah? But smother each other with pillows seems drastic."

She sets her wine on the table and gets up, moving into the bedroom. He'd peeked inside when he'd gone to the bathroom, glancing at the pictures framed on the walls there and along the short hallway. When she comes out, she's carrying a blanket, a sheet and two pillows, which she sets on the couch where she'd been sitting. "Bed."

"No. Couch." She picks up the top pillow and smacks him with it. Pete catches his breath and laughs, grabbing it out of her arms and hitting her back. She grabs at it again and he tugs it out of her reach. "You started it."

"Go to bed, Pete."

"If I sleep here, I can't be held responsible for humping your couch."

"Just clean up any mess you make." She leans in over the pillow he holds up in defense and kisses his cheek. "Goodnight, Pete."

"Night, Court." He watches her go, leaving the lamp beside the hallway on and turning everything else off. She disappears into her bedroom, leaving the door half open. Pete sets about making his bed, curling up small under the sheet and blanket, hugging one of the pillows to his chest. He hasn't been sleeping much lately, so the last thing he expects is to be out the minute his head hits the pillow.

**

When he wakes up a couple hours later, the sun's just about to come over the back of the couch. He goes to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible. His mouth feels disgusting, like small furry things are growing on his teeth, and he has to piss so much that he thinks his back teeth are floating. The problem is that her place is miniscule, he's used to thick walls and separate floors, and he doesn't want to wake her up with bodily functions.

He rinses his mouth with water and then heads for the door, snagging her keys along the way. He locks the door behind him and drives to the nearest Starbucks, using their bathroom and ordering coffee. He tries to remember what she had in her hand the day before, but can't, so he settles for the biggest, blackest coffee they have and grabs handfuls of sugar packets.

She's still asleep when he sneaks back in, so he sets her keys back where he found them and moves back to the couch. He folds the blanket and the sheet and sets the pillows on top of them, then takes a long sip of his coffee, wondering what he's supposed to do now. It's still early. She's only had three hours of sleep, and he has no idea what kind of sleeper she is; he could be there for hours if he waits for her to wake up. He has to pick Bronx up at two, though, so hopefully she'll be awake before then. He's not sure why he's so worried about it - they had dinner and he was sleeping off some wine - but it seems rude to leave, somehow wrong.

His leg moves up and down, nervously bouncing. Getting to his feet to stop it, he goes into the kitchen and runs hot water in the sink, starting the dishes they'd set aside the night before in favor of the wine and the couch. He finds a drain under her sink and sets it up as the water fills. He loves doing dishes, the sense of accomplishment as the dirty stack gets smaller, the clean one larger. He loves refilling the water so that it stays hot. He loves that it's simple and mindless.

He doesn't realize Courtney's there until she sniffs. "Coffee?"

"There is coffee." He grabs the towel to dry off his hands and turns around. She's standing beside the counter, her hair a wild tangle around her face, her glasses making her eyes look owlish. Pete drops his gaze for a moment, just long enough to see threadbare white boxer shorts and an orange Snakes & Suits tank top. He brings his gaze back up as quickly as he can and swallows hard. "It might be kind of cold. And I wasn't sure how you took it."

"Coffee." She takes the cup he points to and moves straight to the microwave, staring at the lit-up window as the cup spins. "Early."

"Yeah. Sorry. I don't sleep much." He watches her for a minute, emptying the dishwater from the sink. "Are you hungry? I could make food."

"Coffee." She gets the cup out of the microwave and lifts the lid, inhaling deeply. Carrying it over to the counter, she sits down before taking her first sip. She swallows and closes her eyes, moaning softly as she licks her lips then drinks more down.

"Wow. You and Mikeyway make coffee addiction really sexy."

"Mikey's the one Bill watches wrestling with, right? The quiet one with the sense of humor?"

"They watch wrestling together?"

"Well, online at the same time." She yawns. "So you don't sleep?"

"I sleep. Not a lot. But some. I slept really good."

"Couch is magic." She drinks more coffee, blinking down at the dark liquid. "You bought me coffee."

"I bought me coffee. Seemed rude not to get you some."

"You're still here."

"Seemed rude to leave."

"I have a shoot this afternoon."

"I have a kid."

She looks at him for a minute and then laughs. "This feels weird, right? Like 'what do we say to each other' weird."

"Kind of." He leans on the counter, making designs out of the packets of sugar he'd brought back with him. "Which is stupid, since we talked for hours last night."

"It's the whole morning after thing. We're conditioned to feel weird. You know. A guy and a girl. What happened. What didn't."

"Nothing happened."

"I know. So no need to be weird." She smiles. "Also, you didn't have to do the dishes."

"You made dinner."

"As payment for you helping me."

"I wanted to. So we're even."

She takes the sugar from him and uses the packets to make a smiley face. "Okay. We're even."

"And I should go."

"All right." She stands up and Pete can't help but watch the way her clothes shift on her body, the hem of the boxers falling against her thighs, the way the shirt clings to her. "Yesterday was fun. And last night."

"It was. Best time I've had in a while."

She looks dubious, but smiles. "Me too."

"So, I'm going to go."

Courtney nods, and Pete shoves his hands in his pockets. "Bye, Pete." She leans forward and places a soft, quick kiss on his cheek. "See you around."

He nods and makes it out the door, hurrying to his SUV and climbing inside the safe cocoon of it through sheer determination, using the ride home to remember how to breathe.

**

Pete does his best not to think about anything after that, other than what he needs to do to keep things on keel for him and Bronx. It's hard considering he and Ashlee are in the process of divorcing, and Ashlee's already moved on. He tries not to feel like he's been replaced with a new model, something better and taller and less damaged, but that's pretty much what's happened. He doesn't blame her, not really, except that he does, because he meant it when he promised forever. Still, for Bronx's sake, he knows he has to move on. Forgive. Forget.

He decides to have a barbeque on the spur of the moment, too tired of being alone in his own head. Bronx is with Ashlee, but he invites everyone else he knows, asking Nate and Spence and anyone else currently in LA. About twenty people show up, most of his friends somewhere else. He thinks about calling Sisky for Courtney's number, because he knows Bill would freak out, and Mike would laugh at him. In the end, he Googles her website and sends her an email.

Marcus is watching the door, even though he's just there as a guest, so Pete doesn't see her until she's already out by the pool. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she's wearing khaki shorts and a green t-shirt. He's surprised she showed, because he's pretty sure his message was rambling and nonsensical, but she's there, talking to Hilary and laughing. Pete frowns and moves toward them, knowing the chances of them talking about him are not negligible.

"Hey, Courtney." He's wearing dark blue swim trunks and nothing else, his hair wet. "I'd hug you or something, but Bebe pushed me in the pool earlier, and I haven't quite dried out."

"What'd you do?"

"Do? Nothing. Why would you think I did something?"

"Because I've met you." She smiles and Hilary barks a laugh. Pete makes a mental note to disown her. "So? What'd you do?"

"Nothing. I'm _innocent_ , and wounded that you'd assume otherwise." He nods toward the grill where Spencer is beating the hamburgers and veggie burgers into submission with his spatula, his other hand drumming along in time. "You hungry? I could get you food. If you want food. "

"I'm good for now, thanks."

"Right. Okay. Well. Have fun?" He heads over to the grill, wondering if Spencer will just set him on fire if he asks nicely. If he won't, Pete's pretty sure Navarro's around somewhere and Nate's always up for a little arson. He mingles and he's with his friends, so it's not too hard to have a good time. Gabe calls to give everyone a hard time from his jet-set lifestyle, and they all razz him a bit, and the mood is light and easy. Pete knows he needs to sell the house, because he's not going to be able to handle living in it on his own, or even with Bronx, but he's trying to wait and let things settle down. He wants to enjoy it while he can.

People pile in the pool, playing stupid games and dunking each other, splashing everyone outside the water. He keeps catching Courtney out of the corner of his eye, watching her move easily between friends from all walks of his life.

People start leaving when the sun starts to go down, and he's caught up in saying goodbye to them all. There are handshakes and fist bumps and hugs, everyone heading out for the real nightlife now that they're buzzed on beer and sunshine. His own obsessive issues let him know that not everyone's left, so he heads back out to the pool, turning on the underwater lights to make it glow an unearthly blue.

Courtney's in the pool, her hair loose as she swims from one end to the other. He watches her gliding smoothly, the lights and water reflecting patterns on her dark suit. Walking over to her pile of clothes, he squats down, picking up her ponytail holder and tugging it on around his wrist. She comes out of the water in front of him, arms resting on the still-hot cement. "Hope it's okay."

"Yeah. Sure. It's a swimming pool. Pool for swimming."

"Just wanted to swim a few laps, not get caught in the craziness earlier."

"Yeah. No. I mean, it's fine. You like to swim?"

"Yeah. They're supposed to be putting a pool in at my gym, but they've been saying that for years, and so far the closest we've gotten is a busted drain in the women's shower."

"I swim in the morning. You could too, if you want. Come over and swim."

"You're a little out of my way, but thanks for the offer."

"Yeah. Well. The offer stands. Remains standing."

"Thanks." She laughs and glances around. He can see the hint of a blush beneath her tan. "Shit, everyone else is gone, aren't they?"

"Some people. Most." He shakes his head. "You don't have to leave though. Stay. Swim. There's plenty of extra food, so we can eat again after."

"You're going to swim too?"

"Sure." He stands up and tugs off the shirt he'd put on earlier, dropping it on top of her clothes. "I'll even race you."

"You will?" She cocks an eyebrow and pushes off the wall.

Pete dives in, coming up from beneath the water right next to her. "Three laps."

"What does the winner get?"

"You're probably like your brother, aren't you? Joy and satisfaction aren't going to cut it."

"Not unless I also get the bloody corpses of my enemies at my feet."

"You guys could be twins. It's fucking eerie."

"Just say go, Wentz."

"I thought we needed a…GO!" He pushes off, pulling a couple of body lengths ahead of her. Her longer limbs eat up distance, but he's small and compact, forcing the water out of his way. He's still ahead of her at the turn, but she's gaining on him. He keeps the lead until they start their third lap, and then she moves ahead in the turn. He reaches out and grabs at her foot on his forward stroke, only his fingers grazing her skin. She loses a stroke and looks back at him, gaining him a little ground. She pushes back into her stride, and Pete reaches out again, actually catching her ankle. Courtney flounders and he uses her as a catalyst to push himself forward, letting go of her at the last minute.

He doesn't make it past her before she grabs his leg and jerks him back. He gasps and water goes up his nose and down his throat. He coughs and treads water, watching her swim off. "Hey!"

"You started it." She's halfway across the pool, so he pushes harder to catch up, grabbing her again. She turns, wiggling and twisting to get out of his grip, but he hangs on, refusing to let her go further. She actually kicks him in the stomach, but she's laughing when she does it. He lets go of her ankle and grabs her wrist instead, tugging her in closer to him. "You're a cheater."

"I am efficient in winning by any means necessary."

"Cheater." She holds up her hand and he watches the water trail down her wrist, over his fingers. "I don't know if you know this, but swimming is actually a non-contact sport."

"Lies. Utter lies." He smiles at her and twists her arm, tucking it under his against his side. "Everything's a contact sport if you want to win."

"I don't know that you're a trustworthy source when it comes to this," she says, grinning at him. Her breathing is shallow, her chest rising and falling, her breasts nearly brushing Pete's chest. "Since you're a cheater."

"Mean."

"We still have three-quarters of a lap to go."

"Yeah. We do." She isn't trying to get away. He can't keep his eyes off her mouth, and it takes a lot of restraint not to move when he licks his lips and she repeats the gesture, leaving her mouth slightly open. He clears his throat instead. "We should swim."

"You have to let go first."

"You let go."

"I'm not holding on."

"Right." He licks his lips again and leans in, the tip of his nose grazing her jaw. "I should let go."

"Y-you…" Her eyes close and her breath catches. "You should."

"This is bad. A bad idea." He can feel the stubble on his jaw rasp against her skin as he moves closer. He's still only got a hold of her arm, but he can feel her shiver. "I'm going to let go."

"O-okay." Her head falls back just a bit and Pete groans, bending his head to slide his mouth over her neck. He doesn't lick or kiss her skin, but he feels it soft against his lips. "O-oh."

He forces himself away from her and dunks his head under the water. His cock is hard, pressing against his trunks. He surfaces and watches her swim away from him to the edge of the pool. He has no idea what he's doing or what he's thinking, if he's thinking. He loves Ashlee.

Courtney turns around, the water up to her neck, her eyes dark as she watches him. The lights shine strangely through the water, highlighting her face so he can't read her expression at all.

"I'm sorry." He clears his throat and rakes his hand through his short hair. "Fuck. I'm sorry. That was… out of line. Out of control. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"No. That was…I'm really sorry. I…"

"Stop it." She snaps the words and then pushes off the wall, swimming down toward the pile of her clothes. The ripples as she swims past lap against his chest and he watches her haul herself out of the pool in a rush of water. She grabs a towel off the pile on the cart beside the lawn chairs, wrapping her hair up in a turban before using another to scrub at her skin. He's helpless watching her, afraid to move.

"Courtney…"

"Shut. Up." She drops the towel and starts tugging on her clothes. She's still wet, so they cling to her suit, tight across her breasts and ass. "Just…Christ, shut up."

"I'm sorry. I just…"

"Stop talking!" She doesn't shout, but the words are loud enough to get him to obey. Her hair is a wild disarray and she tugs it back, twisting it like a rope. "It's fine. One way or the other, it's _fine_. Just forget it."

He watches her go, lowering himself until the water is right under his nose. He stays like that for a bit, then starts swimming, fast and aggressive laps that leave him breathless and are supposed to shut his brain down. Instead all he gets is replay after replay of her face, her voice, the feel of her skin.

It finally hits him five laps in, and he misses the turn, smacking his head on the wall of the pool.

He likes her.

"I like her." It sounds strange. Wrong. There's only been one 'her' in his life for years now, and he never wanted anyone else once they were together. It was only Ashlee, but now Ashlee's moved on. He's free to do or like anyone he wants. He just didn't expect it so soon. Doesn't want it. Doesn't want to admit that it's that easy to walk away, to find someone else. He thought he was better than that, than her.

It's all moot, of course, because Courtney is probably going to spit on him the next time she sees him.

"Shit." He sighs and turns on his back, letting the pool take him wherever it wants him to go.

**

He spends a week and a half playing with the hair band on his wrist before Bebe asks him what he's doing. He glances down at it in surprise. "It's a thing. Um. A hair thing."

She ruffles his short hair. "I can see you need it." Pete ducks out from under her hand and she just looks at him, something like concern or pity in her gaze. "I know you miss her."

"What?" His eyes widen and he swallows roughly. "No I don't. Why would I miss her?"

"Well, you guys were married for a long time."

"Oh. Her. Yeah. Right." He twists his finger in the elastic and lets it snap back against his wrist. "Three years."

"That's a good reason to miss someone."

"Yeah." He sighs and slumps back against his chair. "Do you think it's weird that she's seeing someone else already?"

"Depends on if that's the reason she wanted the divorce."

He flinches, because the thought has crossed his mind more than once. "You mean was she cheating on me. I don't…No. I don't think so. I mean, there was other stuff like me being crazy."

"Stop it." She kicks him lightly. "She knew what she was getting in to. Sometimes it just doesn't work out."

"That's depressing as shit."

"Well, I don't have a lot of experience, you know."

"Having experience doesn't always help. I mean, I have a string of relationships behind me, and I still don't know anything."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that hanging onto that-" She reaches out and tugs the hair tie off his wrist, "isn't the way to move on. No one expects you to be alone, Pete."

"But if I love her. Loved her. I mean, _really_. If it was real…"

"It was real, Pete. That doesn't mean that it can't be over."

"You're a ray of sunshine." He reaches out and takes the hair tie back. "Let's track the first one again."

"You're the boss."

He throws a magazine at her as she ducks inside the booth. "Stop _saying_ that."

**

It's the flimsiest excuse in the history of the universe, and he's pretty sure he's not getting past the front door, but considering some of the things he's thought about doing to get her to talk to him, he thinks the flimsy excuse might be the best way to go. He knocks, realizing at the last minute that her car being there doesn't mean she's home, and it definitely doesn't mean she's alone. He's about to turn and bolt back to his car when the front door opens.

"Pete."

"Hey. Courtney. So. I'm really sorry to bother you, but…"

"You're going to do it anyway?"

"Um. Well. Yes."

She shakes her head, but he can see the hint of a smile. "Okay. Go ahead."

"Right. So." He clears his throat. "You left this at my house, and I thought I should return it."

"Left what?"

He holds up the hair tie. "I see."

"I thought it might be important. A family heirloom or something.."

"Yes. Well." She runs her fingers through her hair from her scalp to the feathery ends at her shoulders. "I have been bereft without it."

"So it is valuable."

"Oh, yes."

He shifts his stance, moving closer. "Very valuable?"

"Irreplaceable."

"So worth…worth a reward."

She's actually smiling now, the corners of her mouth crooked up. "A reward could be arranged. What did you have in mind?"

"Let me make the other night up to you. Prove I'm not a complete douche."

She's quiet, her expression thoughtful. Her smile hasn't gone, but there's something less amused about it. "I don't know."

"I reacted badly and then overreacted. I like you. You're nice and smart and pretty and you refuse to take my shit. I just said a lot of things to Ash that I never thought would…wouldn't be. And I expected that once I found out I was wrong, I'd still feel all those same feelings. I mean, I do. I just didn't expect to have other feelings. Similar feelings. For someone. You."

"I'm not looking for a husband."

"No. I know! I mean, that's not what I mean. I just planned on kissing Ashlee for the rest of my life, and now there are other people I can kiss. Want to kiss. You. I want to kiss you."

"Wow, it's not so much rebound as a wild pitch with you, isn't it?"

"Hasn't Bill ever told you I suck at sports metaphors?"

She's quiet for a long time, and Pete isn't sure if he should stay or go. When she brings her eyes back to his, her voice is soft and careful. "I'm not sure I want to be the girl you see to get over your ex-wife, who you are clearly nowhere near over."

"I just want someone fun to be with. Hang out with. Maybe make out with."

"And what about me?"

"I don't understand. I mean, I'm fun and stuff. I mean, I'm probably not marriage material or anything, obviously, but I'm not horrible."

"I know you're not horrible, Pete."

"So we could hang out."

Courtney sighs, twisting her hair back again. He loves the movement of her fingers, the manipulation, how she makes it look so easy. "Basically you're asking if I want to be the girl you bang until you're ready to move on."

"That's not what I said."

" _Really_?"

He huffs a frustrated breath and looks her in the eye. "I like you. I'm attracted to you. I would like to do things like hang out with you and kiss you."

"You'll say anything to get back to my couch, won't you?"

"Damn." He smiles, testing the waters. "You've seen through my clever ruse again."

She smiles back, tentatively, but genuine. "You're pretty transparent. So. I have Chinese food. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah." He waits for her to step back, then moves into the house. She keeps distance between them, padding barefoot into the living room. He toes off his shoes and follows her, sinking down onto the couch.

"Mongolian beef, Szechwan chicken, moo goo gai pan, rice, and egg rolls. I'll get you a plate."

"This is a lot of food. I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I mean, you're not expecting anyone?"

"Are you making a comment on my eating habits, Wentz?"

"No! God, no. I'm just…shutting up."

"I'm giving you shit." She goes into the kitchen and gets another plate, coming back and handing it to him before she sits down beside him. "I usually order a lot and have it last me a couple of days. Better than ordering it over and over. Or, well, I feel better about it. That way I only order out once a week."

"Working the system, I like it." He waits until she dishes up her plate to fill his own, laughing as he takes his first bite. "Holy shit. This is spicy."

"What? You can't take it?"

"No, I'm used to a two year old who gets mad if he gets anything but regular Cheeri-Os." He takes a bite of rice. "I wasn't prepared."

"Now you know how I feel."

"What?"

She shakes her head like she's not going to say anything and then sighs, setting her plate down and looking at him. "You're Pete Wentz. Ever since I was a kid, you were, like, some mythical creature to my brother, and then you were his friend, but Bill still talks about you like you walk on water. You're a rock star. You're married to an actress. You're the Hollywood dream."

"My band is on hiatus and I'm getting divorced."

"You're… _someone_."

"I'm the same guy you met back in Chicago. The one you called a midget? I'm not different. Maybe more stable, but that's more due to medication and having to chase after a kid than anything else."

She rubs her forehead, and he can see the frustration in the curve of her shoulders, the tenseness of her entire body. She looks at him and shakes her head. "You get your picture taken wherever you go."

"Yeah, I know. And it'll be bad for a while until the stuff with Ash goes through, and probably whenever I'm with Bronx, but once we're divorced, I'm not that important to anyone."

"You're an idiot."

"And what does it matter? Maybe I'm okay being seen with you. Maybe I _want_ to be seen with you. Maybe I want people to ask who you are so I can say you're my friend, Courtney, this amazing photographer, and let them draw their own conclusions because it doesn't matter to me what other people think."

" _Really_." She draws the word out and he puts his own plate down, annoyance and embarrassment warring inside him.

"People are going to speculate about who I'm sleeping with no matter what I do. I married Ashlee as a beard to hide my homosexuality. She married me as a beard because she's gay. She married me to fuck Patrick. I married her to fuck Patrick. We married each other and keep Patrick in our basement. It doesn't matter what the truth is. If I'm seen with my _sister_ and people don't recognize her, they figure I've moved on or I'm cheating. And if you don't think that's creepy, well…well, you're related to Beckett, you probably get that one."

"People don't think I sleep with Bill. They just think we're twins."

"Yeah, but I bet they ask you things about him, and…" He clears his throat. "My _point_ is that it doesn't _matter_. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, as long as I know what I think and I know what you think."

"And what do you think?"

"I think you're amazing and funny and smart and sexy and I like you and I want to kiss you. I think about kissing you. A lot. It has become a _thing_."

"So do it."

"Do what?"

She rolls her eyes and then looks at him straight on. "Kiss me."

"Okay. I will." He nods and doesn't move, and he's not sure how this is so fucking intimidating. He's kissed plenty of girls, his fair share of boys. Kisses are what he's good at. He excels in kisses. She raises her eyebrows in direct challenge and he huffs out a breath and moves closer, reaching out to trace his thumb over her lower lip. "This whole kiss on demand thing kind of ruins the moment."

She moves her head and presses a kiss to the pad of his thumb. It's a small thing, a gesture, but it sends a shock to his system. He turns his thumb so the nail slides along the seam of her lips, watching her part them ever so slightly.

Pete stops suddenly, pulling back. Courtney's mouth falls open a bit more, then she snaps it closed. "What?"

"Well, it's just..." Pete shrugs, pulse pounding with nerves and uncertainty. "You...I mean, do you want to? Kiss me?"

She looks at him for a long minute, long enough that Pete's almost ready to slide off the couch and make his getaway. "Seriously?"

"What?" He doesn't mean to sound defensive, but he does, even to his own ears.

"You're Pete Wentz." He's heard that same emphasis on his name before, and his chest tightens hearing it from her. It's the last thing he expected. "You were king of the Chicago scene." Her voice is soft, as soft as the fingers she lays against his jaw to turn him to face her. "I've wanted to kiss you since I was twelve."

"I was an asshole when you were twelve."

"Some things never change."

His protest is lost against her lips as she tilts her head and presses her mouth to his. It's awkward. Tentative. A _first_ kiss, and Pete closes his eyes to lose himself in it. Her mouth has the tang of spicy food and Asian beer, and her teeth are smooth against his tongue. It's a series of small kisses, each different from the last. He kisses her lower lip, holding contact with the soft, plump flesh until the last second as he pulls back, then moving in again to slide his tongue past her lips. She opens easily to him, for him to uncover and explore.

Courtney's fingers stay on his jaw, three points of constant contact. He raises his hand up and covers hers, turning his head to kiss each fingertip. "Not-" He leans in and kisses her again, quickly, stealing a taste. "Not so bad, huh?"

"I've had worse."

He laughs and curves his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her close, feeling the heat of her body. "Careful. You're going to inflate my ego."

"If that's what I'm doing, your ego is shit." She stops, looking at him squarely, smiling. "Hi."

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. They breathe in unison until his hand finds her jaw, tilting her face up. When he opens his eyes, he sees his own fears and worries and concerns reflected back at him in her eyes, and the faint, hopeful smile he slides his fingers around to touch. "Hi."

**

Happily ever after didn't have a pre-nup, so neither did he and Ashlee, which is why he's currently familiar with lawyers' offices and words like support and custody. He and Ash are on good terms, though. Or they're trying, anyway.

He doesn't tell her about Courtney - doesn't tell anyone, at Courtney's request. He understands her reasons, because they make perfect sense. There's a very good chance that her brother, his band, and nearly every single person signed to Decaydance will have something to say about them dating. There's also the fact that Pete's in the tabloids and gossip blogs and she has no desire to be.

The problem is that, despite all of the reasons why it makes sense, his brain keeps telling him that she doesn't care if they know she's dating. She just doesn't want them to know she's dating _him_.  
It's worse when the pictures of Ash and her actor hit the net. Ashlee calls and his publicist calls, his sister calls and his dad calls. It's not until late when Bronx has been asleep for hours in his room and Pete's on his fourth CSI rerun that his phone rings and it's her.

"Hey," she yawns. "Sorry it's so late."

"Not like I was asleep."

"I thought the insomnia was better when Bronx is there."

She's met Bronx before a couple of times, but that was always in a crowd, a while ago. Before. When Pete has Bronx, he doesn't have her. She's a child of divorce. She says she gets it.  
"Normally. Not tonight."

"Everything okay?"

He can hear her moving around her place, locking up the cameras, settling on her bed with her laptop and memory cards. She's shed her jeans by now, nothing but her too-long t-shirt, bra and panties on, feet tucked under her comforter.

"No."

"You want to talk about it?"

They've been dating for three weeks, and that's what they've done. Talked. Kissed. He's run a hand up her bare leg and when he leaned in to kiss at the hem of her t-shirt, found out she was ticklish as hell when his stubble brushed her thigh. They've wrestled for the remote and she's beaten him at every word game he owns. He nearly broke her glasses in a pillow fight and she's sucked pasta sauce off his fingers and told him he needed more garlic.

"Ash."

"Oh." She's quiet for a while and he listens to her measured breaths. " _Do_ you want to talk about it?"

"Are we ever going to fuck?"

Her next breath is a little sharper. "Goodnight, Pete. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Don't hang up on me. Goddamnit, Ashlee!" He stops, clamping his hand over his mouth. He can't hear anything on the other end of the phone, not even breathing, until the silence ends with a distant click.

**

He doesn't sleep that night or the night after. Ashlee picks up Bronx on Monday. She doesn't quite meet Pete's eyes. He wants to tell her she's not the cause of the dark circles. Not directly. He's perfectly capable of fucking shit up on his own.

He knows Courtney won't be home, so he takes his laptop, a notebook, four pens, and a thermos of coffee and parks in her driveway. He's gotten to the point where he's ready to take on spider solitaire when her car pulls up and she starts unloading her gear. The overhead light comes on when he opens the door and the car dings until he pulls his key from the ignition.

"Need help?"

"No, I'm good." She slings a bag over each shoulder and takes the tripod under her arm.

"Late shoot."

"We had dinner after."

"I'm an asshole."

"I'm not arguing." She brushes past him and fits the key into the lock.

"Courtney, look, I don't...I don't get you two confused in my head. I mean, she's...and you're..." He can't find the words, which seems to make things worse. "She's my wife. Soon to be ex-wife. We have a kid. She's always going to be a part of my life."

"And I'm just the girl not fucking you." She gives him a thin smile as she walks into the room and starts her routine, putting away her cameras. "I guess we have that in common. Maybe that's why you got us mixed up."

He flinches, even though he deserves it. She hasn't kicked him out, so he follows her inside and sits on the couch. "I was angry, okay? Angry and hurt and jealous. Ashlee was out with her new boyfriend. Guy. Whatever. I saw the pictures and then everyone called to make sure I'd seen the pictures so that I wouldn't be surprised by them, but all that did was make sure I didn't stand a chance of _missing_ them."

"I'm sorry. Fucking photographers, right?"

"She's moved on. She's found someone else, and I'm yesterday's news. Out with the old, in with the newer and younger. And she's out there with him. You know? Kissing. Fucking kissing in the middle of New York City."

"Pete?" Her voice is soft, painfully quiet. She sinks down next to him, close enough to touch. "What am I?"

"What?"

"Am I the newer and younger?"

"What? No! No. You're different."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why am I different?"

"Because...because you're _you_. You're my friend, and I can talk to you and...and I'm not looking for the next model wife or girlfriend or whatever. I just want to let the chips fall, you know? I want...I don't _know_ what I want, Court, or what I'm doing." He laughs and rakes his hand through his hair. "She's moved on."

"And you haven't?"

"I have. I _have_. I just...part of who I am, of what I do. It's looking back. Picking apart all this stuff."

"You..." She presses her lips together and he realizes she's stifling a laugh. "You do realize what your argument comes down to, don't you?"

He shakes his head, honestly confused and surprised by her amusement. With every word that had come out of his mouth, he was pretty sure he was hammering a nail into the coffin of their burgeoning relationship. "No?"

She starts humming, standing up just as he catches on to the tune. She starts singing before he can stop her. "I might you like you better if we slept together. I might like you better if we slept together."

He grabs her hand before she can go on, tugging her down in his lap. "I like you a lot."

"I like you too." She straddles his legs easily, her long legs meaning her feet are on the floor to balance them evenly. "You're sweet and kind and a great dad. You're funny and sexy and I want to do really, really dirty things  
to you."

"You do?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well...yeah. Kind of." He shrugs, embarrassed. "I haven't really gotten the sex-vibe from you."

"You think I don't want to have sex with you." She ducks her head and presses it to his shoulder. "You're really obnoxiously clueless, Wentz."

"But you haven't _had_ sex with me!"

"Yet." She kisses his neck, nuzzling and breathing against the damp imprint she leaves. "Maybe I'm worth the wait, huh? Probably not used to waiting for things. Rock stars always get what they want on demand." Her voice is breathy with laughter as she kisses up to the hollow beneath his ear. He shivers, his eyes closing and his breath catching as she bites his earlobe and sucks on it. Her breath fans his ear and his lips part. "Good things are worth waiting for, Pete. I'm worth waiting for."

His hands catch her hips, thumbs rubbing beneath the hem of her t-shirt. "How long am I waiting?"

"Impatient." She bites his earlobe harder, sending a jolt along his nerve endings.

"Fuck." He tightens his hands, tugging her closer. "Okay, now this is just mean if you're holding out on me."

"Poor deprived Pete." She slides her lower lip along his jaw. "'m I gonna make you go blind?"

"Evil." He laughs roughly, turning his head to capture her mouth. It's different than their other kisses, hungrier, needier. His hands squeeze her hips and then slide up her back under her shirt, fingers splaying over her skin. "Been jerking off every night imagining you."

"Yeah?" She bites his lower lip hard and then sucks on it. "What'd you imagine?"

"This. Like this. This works." He pulls her closer, his hips thrusting upward to meet her as she moves in. "Jesus." He pushes his hands higher, guiding her shirt up her body, over her head. "Want to see you."

"Yeah." She pulls back, breathless and flushed as she wriggles on his lap, getting her shirt off and tossing it on the couch beside him.

He groans roughly, sliding his hands along the back of her bra and then around to cup her breasts. The fabric is silky to the touch, but it's nothing compared to the smoothness of her skin beneath it, the swell that he traces with his thumb through the lace edging. He touches her reverently, leaning in and breathing against her breasts, letting his stubble catch on the lace. "Let me?"

"Y-yes." She's breathless, voice hitching. "Please."

His fingers fumble with the clasps, unhooking them clumsily until they all come free and her breasts press against the cups, slipping loose from the fabric. Courtney shrugs and it falls down her arms. Pete catches the strap and guides it off her completely, dropping it to the floor. "Look at you. G-god. Look at you."

She rests her hands on his forearms, sliding them up to his elbows. Her nails dig lightly into his skin, moving over his tattoos. "S-slow."

"Slow," he agrees, his fingers brushing lightly over both nipples. Courtney sucks in a breath and her chest expands, pushing her breasts out against his hands. She fits against his palms perfectly, soft warm flesh molding to the curve of his fingers. He squeezes and she gasps an unsteady laugh.

"H-hope you don't expect me to honk or something."

"That might throw me off my game." He traces her aureoles, watching her body react to his touch. "Fuck. How are you real?"

"P-Please." Her hands are still clenched at his arms, holding onto him. "You married Ashlee Simpson. Don't pretend I'm beautiful."

"You are. Honest and natural and, well, I was going to say 'uncomplicated,' but then I remembered you're a Beckett."

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he turns it into a kiss, sucking it into his mouth. She makes soft, unintelligible noises that go straight to his dick, and he palms her breasts, feeling her pressing in against him.

"Gorgeous, Courtney," he murmurs against her lips, kissing her again, deeper.

"Pete." She digs her knees into the couch, pushing forward to pin him to the couch. He goes back easily, letting her guide him, then slides his hands up, pushing against her just enough that she gives way. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He licks his lips and kisses her shoulder down to her collarbone. "Nothing at all."

"Then why..." She cries out quietly as his mouth closes over her, teeth catching her nipple and rolling it slowly. His hand squeezes the other breast, mimicking the pressure with a light pinch, and Courtney grinds down desperately.

His mouth moves over her, sucking and licking the warm skin, his hands sliding to her back as he gives his mouth free rein, moving from one breast to the other, tasting every inch. Her back arches, her weight against his hands, and he looks up through his lashes to see her eyes closed, lips parted, breath caught in desperate gasps she seems to barely manage.

"Please. Please. Pete. Pete. C'mon. Please." Her nails rake over his sleeves up to his shoulders, digging in there before tangling in his short hair, fisting in it as she holds his head against her. She tastes like powder and sweat and sunshine and she moans up into the air, her body shaking as she comes. He feels it shudder through her and he pulls her closer, finding her mouth with his, crushing her breasts against his chest. She cries out again against his mouth, overly sensitive as she grinds down on him. "Need. Need."

He gets his hand between them, sliding it against the seam of her jeans, pressing hard against it. She bites at his mouth, sucking on his lip, his tongue, riding down onto his fingers until she's gasping, panting his name brokenly, her body tensing as she comes again.

"Fuck. Fuck." He lays her down on the couch, lying beside her, his fingers tracing slow streaks up and down her sternum. "So fucking beautiful."

"T-that was..."

"Yeah." He kisses her mid-chest and rubs his thumb lightly over her navel. "It was."

"I can...for you."

She starts to turn, but he puts pressure on his hand, holding her down. "Not tonight. You were perfect. Don't fuck with perfection."

"But you..." Her hand grazes the front of his jeans, rubbing lightly against the bulge that aches beneath his zipper. His body jerks at her touch and she shakes her head. "I don't understand."

"Kind of don't want our first time to stem from me apologizing for calling you my ex-wife's name. Seems...I don't know..."

"Kind of Hollywood? Soap opera?"

"Something like that." He kisses her lips and then her shoulder, resting his head on it, letting his breath feather over her chest. "Something we're not."

**

They end up in a holding pattern after that. She has shoots lined up that take her all over California and into Chicago for weeks, and he has DJ sets and shows and commitments all over the damn place.

The next time he sees her is in August when the Cobras land in LA. It's the release party for _Night Shades_ , and they're all at AKLA. Ryland and Alex are at the turntables spinning the shit out of them, and Pete is at Gabe's table, listening to a vodka-fueled recounting of the last five hours.

Courtney's there, somewhere, and Pete's kept his distance, because he can hide a lot of things, but the fact that he's dating William's sister is going to light up Gabe's radar like a pinball machine, drunk or not. And Gabe knowing means William knowing, and Pete's actually kind of fond of all his body parts right where they are.

He catches sight of her from time to time, the snap and flare of her camera lost in the noise and the lights. She's dressed in all black, her hair pulled back, unobtrusive, incognito. He has a hard time keeping his eyes off of her. He waves and she smiles before disappearing back into the sea of sweaty, scantily clad bodies.

The bar closes at two, and Ryland finally ends things at three, but there's still the after-party, where they crowd into one of the back offices and pass around a bottle or five. On the bus it would be 'spin the bottle,' but here it's quiet, intense conversations, the kind only experienced by the truly brilliant or the truly drunk. Courtney's on Gabe's lap leaning back against him, her camera loose in her hands. She's talking to Erin and Spencer, kicking her boot against the sole of Nate's shoe.

"…'n that's why your rat bastard brother should be here."

"You know how he and Mike are." Nate makes an obscene gesture, and Courtney kicks him harder. "Ew."

"Hey now." Gabe tsks slowly, sadly. "No hate, Courtney. All love. Nothing wrong w' two guys together."

"No. There's not. Except when one of them is my _brother_."

"Bilvy's been 'round," Gabe waggles his eyebrows. "Wentzy here got a taste and passed him 'round like cheap wine."

"Hey!" Pete throws a bottle cap at Gabe. "Whatever passing around Beckett did, it had nothing to do with me." He turns his gaze to Courtney, his face bland and innocent. "You believe me, don't you, Courtney?"

"As I've actually seen pictures of Gabe making out with William, I'm thinking he's trying to deflect blame. I'm siding with Pete on this one." She turns her head and kisses Gabe's cheek. "Nice try though."

"Cut me t' the quick." Gabe kisses the tip of her nose, then helps her to her feet. "We should g' back t' the hotel 'n let Pete's working stiffs actually do their job."

"Actually, speaking of jobs-" Courtney flips off Ryland as he gives her an exaggerated yawn. "We aren't all rock stars. I've got a shoot tomorrow. Today. I've got to get home."

"I'll take you." Pete shrugs at Gabe's protest. "If you want to see the littlest dude tomorrow, I need to be in some kind of shape to have him."

"Harsh, dude." Gabe stands up and pulls Pete against him, hugging him close. Pete closes his eyes, reveling in it. Gabe never holds anything back, holds Pete as tight as he can. "Kicked ass for us tonight, little man."

"Just let your record do the talking."

"Just shut up and say 'you're welcome', Pete."

He hugs Gabe closer, soaking in the warmth and steadiness of him. "You're welcome."

"Good boy. Now, make sure baby Beckett here gets home safe."

Courtney rolls her eyes and snaps a picture of the two of them. "Unlike my brother, I don't actually need a keeper."

"Oooh." Gabe laughs and reaches out, tugging her into the hug with them. Pete shifts so she fits, her body against his. "Mean."

"It's not mean. It's the truth." She pulls away and goes up on her toes, pressing a kiss to Gabe's cheek. "The new album's good. I like you happy."

"I like me happy too. Now get out of here, only people who can party allowed."

Pete's careful not to touch her until they're in the town car, doors shut and tinted windows up. They pull into traffic, and he threads his fingers with hers. "Hi."

"Ha." She glances at the driver and then undoes her seatbelt, moving over him and straddling his lap. "Hi."

He laughs and tugs her in to kiss. "Been wanting to do that since I first saw you tonight. You've been gone forever."

"Longer. Kiss me again." She wraps her arms around his neck, her tongue hot in his mouth. "Missed you."

"Missed you." His hands splay over her ass, squeezing and pulling her closer. "You really have a shoot tomorrow?"

"Nope." Her hands find the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up so she can feel his skin. "Just an excuse to get out of the after-after party. I'm all yours."

"So you're staying the night?" He tugs at the neckline of her t-shirt with his teeth.

"I can do that." Her fingers ghost along his ribs, the threat of tickling him buried in the smooth slide of her fingers, the promise of something more. "Stay until you have to get ready for dad duty."

"Not until noon."

"Hours." She kisses him again, shutting them both up until the car pulls to a smooth stop at his driveway. He tips the driver as she gathers her camera bag, then he takes her hand to lead her inside. Resetting the security system takes a few minutes and when he turns around, all he sees is her shoes and her bag at the edge of the entryway carpet.

"Make yourself at home," he calls out as he gets his shoes off, leaving them jumbled with hers.

"Are you kidding me? I'm looking for dirt. Human sacrifices, tortured animals, risqué books, clothes from Abercrombie and Fitch."

He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his nose in her hair. "I want to fuck you."

She hums low, her body vibrating with the sound. "Well now. That's quite a coincidence."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Because I was just thinking I want you to fuck me."

"Great minds."

She turns in his embrace and steps back, tugging her shirt over her head. It catches on her ponytail, and the tie comes off with it, her hair cascading down over her shoulders and back. He gets lost in looking at her until she gets her hands on his shirt, pulling it up over his head. She makes a low hot noise and he shakes his head.

"Nothing you haven't seen before, I imagine."

"It's different like this," she whispers, and he's strangely glad she doesn't deny that everything of his is out there, on display. Her fingers hover in the air over the bartskull. "I can…can I touch you?"

A sarcastic remark is on his lips, but he catches himself in time, simply nodding. "I want that."

She gasps a little laugh, surprise or disbelief or something close to those, and then her hands are on him, tracing black ink across his skin. Pete sucks in a breath and she follows the movement, her thumbs making broad strokes on his abdomen. He watches her, his eyes half-closed, as she keeps touching him, slow and exploring. Both hands frame the lower curve of his ribcage and then slide upward.

"Want to photograph you." She leans in, her mouth open, her breath fanning over his collar of thorns. "Most of you in shadow except these, spotlights and filters to bring out the dark of your skin, the depth of your ink."

"Skin deep," he teases.

She shakes her head and starts to circle him, fingers unerringly finding the _unlovable_ tattoo. "The stories go deeper."

"Y-you're brother's not the only poet in the family."

"Mmm. Pete?"

His breath catches as she mouths his name against his back. "Y-yeah?"

"Don't talk about my brother right now."

"Right. Sorry. Ri-right." He gasps as her hands snake around him, fingers undoing his belt. "Courtney."

"Take me upstairs, Pete."

He slips away from her touch, catching her hand at the last moment and guiding her, leading the way. The guest room is the closest to the stairs, the room he claimed as his own long before Ash actually moved out, for when the long fingers of his subconscious would grab and claw at him. He pauses at the door and looks at her, curving their joined hands against her cheek. "I'm…well, shit. Nervous as fuck."

"How do you think _I_ feel? I'm about to have sex with Pete Wentz." She turns her head and kisses his wrist. "He's a total rock star _and_ he's got a pretty impressive list of exes."

"Trust me. He's not all that."

"I'll judge for myself, if you don't mind." She crowds him against the door and kisses him, her free hand between them, her fingers against his fly, undoing the button and then sliding the zipper down. He hisses, sucking air between his teeth as her fingers push past the denim and graze over the bulge of his cock through his boxer-briefs. "Bed, Pete."

"Bed. Yeah." He fumbles with the doorknob, managing to get it open. He's somewhere in his middle ground, so he's neither slovenly nor meticulous, a jacket and a shirt on the chair, a few of Bronx's story books on the nightstand. She walks toward him, pushing him back toward the bed a few steps then stops, her hands on his thighs as she sinks to her knees, pushing his jeans to the floor.

Courtney looks up at him, and his breath stutters as she leans in and breathes against him before closing her mouth over the bulge of his cock, her tongue wet against the fabric. "Fuck."

She sucks him, her tongue moving over the cotton. Pete grabs the footboard to steady himself, watching her as she keeps her eyes on him. It's too much, too hot and he has to pull back before he loses control and comes in his shorts.

"Need…can't…Jesus, not going to last if you do that." He helps her to her feet and kisses her, cupping her breasts and squeezing lightly before sliding his hand down to her jeans, undoing the fly and pushing them down her legs. She slips away from him, wriggling her hips so her jeans pool at her feet, then she climbs on his bed and lies back, her fingers on the waistband of her light blue panties.

"W-what if I do this?"

He moves to the bed, crawling onto the mattress and moving over her, between her legs as she spreads them for him. He breathes her in, nuzzling her thighs as he moves higher, settling on his elbows and licking along the elastic at her thigh. "Fuck," Pete groans, rubbing his fingers against the wet cloth. "So wet, Court."

"C'mon," she whispers, heels digging into the bed as she thrusts up against his hand. "C'mon. Please."

Pete leans in, sliding his tongue along the same path as his fingers. The desperate hitch of Courtney's breath is all the encouragement he needs, settling on his stomach between her legs. He tugs the elastic aside, offering himself a shadowed view of her labia.

Courtney's body jerks, her head falling back, as his breath fans over her skin. "God. _Please_." She moves her leg, curving it over his shoulder, heel against his back when she arches up, struggling to push her underwear over her hips.

He pulls back just enough to help her remove them, then moves back in, using his thumbs to open her up. The first taste of her is sharp, _different_ , and he has to stop for a moment to try to shut off his head, to not _think_. Kissing is something he's always done, fucking someone other than Ashlee feels almost wrong.

"Pete?"

He looks up at her quickly, guiltily. "Sorry. Sorry. I…"

"Don't." Her voice is low and rough, thick with desire. "Please don't apologize."

"I just…"

"It's okay." She smiles and traces a finger along his jaw. "I promise."

"I _want_ to."

She nods. "Come up here."

He crawls up the bed and braces himself over her. "Did I mention I'm kind of a neurotic mess?"

"Less talking. More kissing." She smiles at him. "Want to see if you taste like me."

He huffs a soft laugh and kisses her, teasing her lips apart with his tongue. She opens up for him and tangles hers with it, sucking on it. Pete lowers himself to his elbows, framing her face with his hands. "Love kissing you."

"Mutual," she murmurs against his mouth. "Stop talking."

He nods, kissing her again. He loses himself in it, forgetting everything but the feel and taste of her. His dick hardens again, pressed firmly against her thigh and he rolls his hips in small thrusts. She makes a low noise and he shifts, putting all of his weight on one arm so he can slide the other hand down, tracing his fingertips over her breast and abdomen. "Want…"

She nods and he slides his hand down further, cupping the mound of flesh, the softness of her pubic hair tickling against his palm. "C-can go slow. As…as slow as you need."

He licks his lips and moves in to kiss her again, to short circuit his brain. He rubs his palm against her, then uses his fingers to part the damp flesh. Courtney's breath stutters and she parts her legs more for him.

His fingers graze her clit and she sucks in a sharp breath, hips canting upwards. She bites her lower lip and looks at him, her irises nearly obscured by her pupils, blown wide. He pushes two fingers inside her slowly, groaning at the tight heat. "Fuck."

"Y-yes. Please." She laughs shakily. "G-god, Pete."

He looks at her, her skin flushed and her hair clinging to her neck and cheeks, her mouth red and wet from his kisses. He thrusts his fingers, a steady rhythm to counter her unsteady breathing. She's slick and hot, thrusting up to meet his hand. It's different, but good. Different, but right. She's beautiful and he wants her. He presses the ball of his thumb against her clit and her whole body shudders and she takes his breath away.

She pulls him down, kissing him hard, tongue thrusting and demanding. He keeps working her clit, kissing away every gasp as he thrusts into her. Her hand slides from his neck to his arm, her short nails digging in as she comes. It feels like her whole body contracts, completely abandoned.

"Fuck." He kisses her again, hard and hungry, easing his fingers free of her. He reaches blindly to the nightstand, knocking over the stack of Bronx's books and an empty glass before he gets the drawer handle and tugs it open. Courtney has one of her legs between his, grinding up against him. It takes all of his self control not to come right there, and he has to pull away, ignoring her protests as he digs out a condom and tries to open it, cursing his slick fingers.

Courtney takes it from him and opens it, sitting up and stealing another kiss before pressing the condom against him and sliding it down his dick. He leans into her, kissing her and guiding her back onto the bed. Her hand is still wrapped around him, and she presses him against her. Pete pushes in and groans, digging his fingers into the comforter as he fights for control.

He feels like it's over too soon, the feel of her around him, muscles clenching wet and tight. He thrusts deep, burying himself inside her until it's too much and his orgasm hits him low and hard. He shudders all over as she pushes up against him, grinding their bodies together. He manages a few more thrusts before he's overloaded, his nerves alive and on fire.

He groans when she slips her hand between them, her knuckles brushing his tattoo as she plays with her clit, the sensation making him shake long before she comes again. When he opens his eyes, hers are still closed, but she's smiling. "Okay?"

"Better." She looks up at him, flushed and happy. He likes it. A lot. "You?"

He thinks for a moment then smiles. He does that around her. "Yeah. Really okay."

"Good. Now get off of me."

He laughs and eases out of her, disposing of the condom. "You want to stay, right?"

"Are you kicking me out?"

"No! No. God, no."

"Then yes."

"And, um…would you want to do that again? Sometime?"

"If you think you can manage it again in the morning, Wentz, I think something could be arranged."

**

Pete settles on the couch next to her, about to complain about Los Angeles pizza, when Courtney pauses the movie and makes a face at the screen. She's the queen of faces, her own Wentz face nearly putting his to shame. He tries to gauge what she's about to say, what's wrong.

"Who do you think would react worse about us? Bronx or William?"

"Bronx is two. William is a grown man."

"That is not an answer."

He takes a piece of pizza and sets it on his plate. "You want to tell Bill?"

"No. Not really." She sighs and turns her head to smile at him. "Not that I don't want people to know about us."

"But?"

"But he'll be weird. He'll do that thing where he gets all over-protective and tell me that I can't see you."

"Why wouldn't he want you to see me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Because you're Pete Wentz."

"And that's bad."

"No. I kind of like that you're Pete Wentz. But you're his friend, you know?"

"And that precludes me dating you?"

"You're his."

"I'm not his. If anything, he's mine. In a real and legally binding sense."

"He was in your life first."

"Yeah, but we hardly see each other and, you know, my interest in you varies sharply from my interest in him. I mean, I like hanging out with you both, but you're the only one I want around if it gets naked."

She laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "I appreciate that."

He sets the pizza aside and turns sideways on the couch, looking at her. "I'm not trying to keep us a secret."

"I know. I do know, Pete. Neither of us has been seeking the spotlight about this. We've just been enjoying it."

"Would it be bad? If people knew?"

She makes another face. "I don't care if people know I'm seeing you. I'm not sure I'm ready to be the other woman, you know? The break-up of your marriage."

"Ash is already dating. In public. Nobody's accusing him of cuckolding me."

She raises an eyebrow and actually turns to look at him. "You've been waiting forever to use that word, haven't you?"

"Kinda." He grins and leans in to kiss her shoulder. "I wish I could tell you it won't be crazy. I think I can safely say that when I'm not part of Pete and Ashlee, it's less crazy, but it'll still be bad when I'm with Bronx."

"Which brings us back to the original question." She grabs both their plates from the coffee table and leans back against him, handing him his. He puts his arm around her and kisses her temple.

"Who's the biggest baby?" He breathes her in. "The two-year-old or the twenty-six-year-old."

"Yeah."

"Easy." He takes a bite of pizza. "Bill."

She nods and starts the movie again. "Yeah," she sighs. "No question."

**

Later in bed, he props himself up on his elbows and looks down at her. There's just a faint light from a distant street lamp, and her skin is bathed in silver and blue. "I just realized that's not what you were asking."

She blinks at him, her face already hazy with the pull of sleep. "Hmm?"

"You want to tell them."

"Who?"

"Bill. And Bronx."

"Want them to find out first." She shrugs and snuggles into the pillow. "Better from us than Star magazine."

"Bronx doesn't read Star."

She laughs softly and tugs him down, turning on her side to face him. "Well then, you don't have to tell him. But Bill and I are close. I'd like to tell him."

"If Bill knows then Mike and Adam know."

"Probably. They're his band. His family."

"They'll probably tell other people."

Courtney sighs. "So you want people to know, you just don't want to tell them? Or you don't want them to know?"

"No. I do. I just…it's like a snowball rolling downhill. You can't just tell one person."

"Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead."

"I don't think you should kill your brother. First off, you'd be ripping off a movie, and secondly, he's on my label and earns me money."

"They earn money?" She sits up, and he watches the sheet fall around her waist. He has to reach up and trace the curve of her breast. "Don't tell him I said that. He'll get all huffy."

"He's perpetually huffy. Also, we're talking about your brother while naked again."

"We need to stop that." She doesn't grab the sheet though, and Pete doesn't remove his hand. "I feel like I'm lying to him."

"I'm not asking you to lie to him."

"I know. But it's this…lie of omission. And I _am_ keeping something from him." She looks down at him, reaching out and tracing a tattoo on his arm. "I can tell him not to tell."

"And he'll freak out saying that I'm embarrassed to be seen with you and I don't want people to know and he'll be all offended and do that thing where he huffs at me all the time." He wrinkles his nose and sits up. "He always looks like a pissed-off ostrich. "

"Have you seen a pissed-off ostrich?"

"No, but I can imagine." He leans in and nuzzles her neck. "Let's tell him together. I like making him make that squawking noise. Offended pissed-off ostrich." He kisses her throat. "It'll be fun."

"And Bronx?"

He stops and pulls back. "That's more complicated."

"And?"

"And I don't know that I want to get into complicated." He chews at his thumbnail and frowns. "He's two."

"I know."

"He doesn't understand things."

"I think you're wrong. Genevieve understands a lot more than most people give kids credit for, and I'd bet Bronx is the same."

"We're still in the process of the divorce."

"I know."  
"And…and that's a lot of adjustment. A lot of things he's dealing with. The whole 'do mommy and daddy still love me even though they don't love each other' thing."

"Except mommy and daddy do still love each other. They just can't live together." She reaches over and touches his hand, pulling it away from his mouth. "Did Ashlee tell you about Vincent before they started seeing each other?"

"Before the pictures came out." He turns his hand, letting her thread her fingers with his. "Yeah."

"I'm not an actress. I'd probably just be 'mysterious brunette.'" She squeezes gently. "You don't want to introduce him to me if I'm just going to be the girl you fuck for a few months."

"That's _not_ what you are!"

"Not right now, but that's what I might be in the long run." She shakes her head. "We don't know what's going to happen, Pete. We're still in that whole 'first blush' phase. I'm okay with waiting to tell him."

"Is this reverse psychology?"

She frowns and shakes her head. "No."

He sighs and looks out the window. Staring into the light makes the bedroom seem darker. "He's the most important thing in the world to me."

"I know." She shakes her head again and lies back against the pillow. "I can wait to tell Bill."

"Just for a little bit longer." He reaches out and traces her mouth with the tip of his finger. "Can I ask you for that?"

She kisses the tip of his finger and smiles, and he wonders what all of this is like for her, what it means to her. He wonders how people who don't write razor-edged lyrics deal with all the inside stuff without going crazy. Not that writing has helped him in that regard. "Lie down and pretend you're going to sleep for a few hours."

"I sleep."

"Mmm. I've yet to wake up with you, so I'll have to take your word for it."

"I have cameras in all the rooms. I could show you…ow! Hey!" He laughs as she pinches him. "Mean!"

"You'd better not have video footage of us, Wentz. You are talking to a woman who knows her way around a camera." She's smiling, but there's something in her eyes. Not fear, but something he's familiar with all the same.

"You're beautiful."

"No video."

"Then no pictures."

"Deal." She pats the pillow beside her. "Kiss me goodnight and close your eyes."

He does as he's told, lingering close so he can feel her breath on his skin, so it's like the kiss doesn't end. "G'night, Courtney."

"G'night, Wentz." She smiles, eyes closed. "Stop thinking."

"You started it."

She kisses him again. "Hush."

**

Of course, his life never goes the way it's supposed to, which is why it's not even two weeks later that he, Bronx, and Ashlee are all leaving the Starbucks where they've met for the Bronx-exchange, and Courtney and Ashlee collide, both of them ending up covered in iced mocha.

"Shit!" Ashlee looks down at her soaked shirt. She looks like she wants to continue, but Courtney's apologizing, even though Pete's pretty sure no one was at fault. Just the universe actively conspiring against him. "Jesus, thankfully it was iced and not extra hot."

"I'm really sorry." Courtney is trying to grab napkins from a nearby table, and Pete's not sure she knows exactly who she ran into at all. "I wasn't looking where I was going, and the door at the one I usually go to swings out, not in, and so I'm just really…oh. Wow. Ashlee. Pete. Um. Hi."

Ashlee's looking at her like she knows she's supposed to know who's talking to her. Courtney doesn't have that sound in her voice that's indicative of a fan. He's about to introduce them - again, since they've met at least three times - when Courtney smiles and everything falls into place for Ash. "A Beckett."

"The few, the proud." Courtney looks down at her shirt. "The covered in coffee."

"I'd forgotten you were in LA." Ash takes a handful of napkins from Courtney and starts wiping herself down. Her shirt was white, and all she's doing is making it very clear how cold the coffee was. "How are you?"

"I've been better. And drier." She smiles at Ashlee, then at Pete. "I shouldn't keep you. Nice seeing you guys again."

"How's William?" Ashlee smiles back. "I can't ask Pete about his friends, because there's a weird line there that we aren't quite ready to cross, you know? But I can ask you. Come on. I'll buy us both a coffee."

"You really don't…" Courtney's got no chance, and Pete closes his eyes for a moment then looks down at Bronx.

"You want to go back in or wait out here?"

"Car."

"We've got to wait for Mommy to go to the car," Pete sits at a nearby table as a couple vacates it. "Let's hang here and wait, huh?" He glances inside. Through the smoked glass doors he can see Ash's hands moving, emphasizing her points. He's very careful not to compare them to each other, but that's easier said than done when they're standing side by side.

Courtney looks over at him, and gives him the saddest smile he thinks he's ever seen. He swallows hard, his chest tightening painfully. He knows the looks she's wearing, knows it by heart. It's the look from the end of summers and marriages. He shakes his head at her and she turns away,

"Daddy? Who's the lady?"

"Do you remember Bill? From Chicago?"

"Tall Bill."

"She's his sister. She's a friend of mine." He can't focus on his coffee or the black iron filigree of the table's surface. Bronx is driving a Hot Wheels car along the edge of it, and the sound shatters against Pete's nerves. "Her name is Courtney. She's nice."

"Tall Bill is nice."

"She's nice too."

"She split Mommy's coffee." The car races over the bumps of the ironwork.

"Spilled, buddy."

"She spilleded Mommy's coffee."

"It was an accident. Remember we talked about accidents?"

Bronx nods, still moving the car. "She's tall too."

"Yeah." Pete rubs his hand over his jaw and then takes a drink from his own cup. It's already melted, watered down. "She is."

"Car now?" He hops off his chair as Courtney and Ashlee come out of the café. "Car now, Mommy?"

"Yeah, little man." Ash holds out her hand for him, and Bronx takes it eagerly. "Ready, Pete?"

"Yeah."

"Nice seeing you, Courtney." Ashlee smiles at her and Courtney smiles back, waving one hand and nodding.

"You too. Pete." She nods again and takes a step back. "Sorry about the coffee."

"Don't worry about it," Ashlee laughs. "The shirt was kind of boring anyway. You spiced it up."

"Glad to be of service." She turns and starts walking, and Pete holds Ash's coffee as she picks Bronx up.

They walk off in the other direction, and Pete's careful not to look back, even though he wants to, even though he wonders if Courtney is. "That was awkward," Ashlee says after a sip of coffee. "I mean, it's hard enough to know what to say to the sister of a friend of your husband, but when you throw in the whole thing of our current situation, well…"

"Situation?" Panic flares in his chest, warring with the worry he'd felt earlier when he'd looked over at Courtney. "What situation? There's…what situation?"

"Our…pending divorce?" Ashlee laughs. "You remember that one, right?"

"Hard to forget." He doesn't mean to sound so sharp, but her quick downward glance tells him he was. "Sorry."

"No. I am. I didn't mean to be flippant." She starts to put Bronx in her car, strapping him into the car seat as Pete digs out a bag of his favorite toys from his SUV. She shuts the door after Pete settles it on the floor next to him. Sighing softly, she reaches out and touches his cheek. "I'm sorry, Pete."

"Don't. Not…let's not do this part again. It was hard enough the first time." He wants to move away from her touch, because he knows it's the right thing to do, the right thing for him, but it's _her_ , and she's still his wife, pending the decision of the California state courts. "No more apologies, remember?"

"Right." She smiles and hugs him tight. "He'll call every night. Wish the old man sweet dreams." Letting him go, she taps him on the nose. "And for the record, you actually have to _sleep_ to dream, okay?"

"Okay." He kisses her cheek and gets in his car, watching until she's driven off. His head hurts and his heart hurts, and he's never going to get used to the sight of her driving away with his kid.

**

He calls Courtney later that night, unsure of the reception he's going to get. It goes to voicemail, so he asks her to call him back, not actually sure that she will. When his phone rings an hour later, he answers it before it finishes. He figures it'll be harder for her to break up with him if she hears his voice.

"Wentz."

"Hey." She sounds tired, or possibly slightly drunk. "I got your message."

"Yeah. I…I wanted to check in. See how you are."

"I'm fine."

"Fine in the way that you would want to come over here or fine in the way that involves calling me names and vowing never to see me again?"

"You really take that whole emo thing to heart, don't you?" She sighs and he can hear the familiar sounds of her - the slight hitch in her breathing when she moves, the soft sigh as she settles. "Today's meeting was awkward."

"Master of understatement."

"But," she keeps going as if he hadn't spoken. "It would have been awkward even if you and I weren't together."

"Not _as_ awkward."

"No. If it were a competition, today's awkward would win."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"So you're not breaking up with me?"

"No, Pete. If I were breaking up with you, I'd say I was breaking up with you. As it is, I don't have any plans to break up with you. Okay?"

He closes his eyes, letting out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Oh. Good. That's…wow. Yeah. That's really good."

"You really thought I'd break up with you just because I saw you with your ex-wife?"

"Well, I mean, most people don't want the people they're seeing to be seen with other people."

"There's a difference between seeing someone and being seen with them."

"Not according to Hollywood or the tabloids."

"Are you and Ashlee trying to reconcile?"

"What?" Reconciliation is something he's thought about. Trying to fix himself so he's better, so that whatever he did or didn't do would or wouldn't happen anymore. Of course, all Ashlee's ever said was that it wasn't him or her. It was them and things had changed, so they didn't work anymore. But truthfully, for the time he's been hanging out with Courtney, he hasn't thought about Ashlee much at all. "No."

"So then, for us, there _is_ a difference, right?"

"Yeah." He breathes for a minute, just listening to her do the same. "Do…um…for photos? Do you do appointments?"

"What kind of photos?"

"Like…um…say if I wanted some. Of my kid?"

There's a long pause and when she speaks, her voice is thick with incredulity. "That's your strategy?" She huffs a rough laugh that isn't funny. "Here, Bronx, meet the nice lady taking your pictures? She might be hanging out with Daddy sometimes?"

"I've never _done_ this," he snaps. "I've never had to introduce my kid to my girlfriend, okay? I've never had a _strategy_ for this because I never planned on this _happening_. I meant the vows I said. Forever. Till death. I didn't expect to have to figure it out again with someone else."

She's silent, and all he can hear is his own rough, angry breathing. "I'll call you tomorrow, Pete."

"No. No. Don't hang up." He listens to the dial tone for a moment. "Shit." He throws the phone across the room and hears the screen shatter. "Fuck. Fuck." He slumps down on the couch, slamming his fist on the coffee table. Heat and pain flare up, and he's pretty sure something's broken. He grabs a pillow and throws it across the room, wincing as the pain spikes again. "Fuck."

**

"You have reached Courtney Beckett Photography. Please…" He hangs up before it goes any further. He's tired, he's drunk and everything hurts, but he's not completely pathetic. Close, but not there yet. He starts to dial again, to maybe get through the message this time, but he stops, reconsiders his options, and calls Gabe.

"'s four 'n th' fuckin' morn'n', an' I jus' got t' sleep."

"Gabanti! Hey, Gabanti. Hey!"

"Pete?"

"Man, you sound like shit. Tired. You should sleep more, dude."

"Trying. What's up, PWeezy?"

"I'm drunk. I've been drinking all night. I think I broke my hand. But I don't feel it, because drinking is awesome."

"Why are you drinking?"

"Because my hand hurt."

"And why did your hand hurt?"

"Because I broke it."

"And how did you break it?"

"I hit the table."

"And why did you hit the table?"

It's a tribute to their friendship that Gabe hasn't hung up on him yet. "Because I broke the phone."

"And why did you break the phone?"

"Because I fucked things up."

"Ah." Pete's not sure that Gabe has any more clue than he did before, because him fucking things up covers a lot of ground. "What things? What's going on? Everything okay with the little dude?"

"Bronx is fine. He's awesome. Best little dude ever. He's great."

"Did you and Ash have a fight or something?"

"Courtney's mad at me."

"Courtney?" There's a pause and Pete giggles, picturing the confused look on Gabe's face. "Who's Courtney?"

"Courtney's mad at me and she's going to break up with me, and I'll be alone forever."

"You're dating someone?"

"Probably not anymore."

"How long?"

"Three months."

"Three…three _months_?"

"Yeah. Maybe a little longer."

Gabe sounds funny, like he can't breathe right as he sputters. "You've been dating someone for more than three months?"

"Yes. Courtney."

"And you kept it a secret? From _me_?"

"Nobody knows. We're being suber…sub…subterfugious. Sub…" He laughs. "Sneaky."

"You and this girl."

"Courtney."

"Courtney." Gabe sighs and Pete copies him before laughing again. "Where'd you meet Courtney, Pete?"

"Starbucks. Or, well. I guess I officially _met_ her at Carden's birthday party when he turned seventeen."

"I…what?"

"You what what?"

"You've known her since Carden was sevent…Oh, holy shit. Tell me you're _not_ dating Courtney Beckett."

"Well, no. Probably not anymore, because I fucked up."

"Does _Bill_ know?"

"No. No one knows. Just me and her. Just us. Not even the papers."

"Are you sleeping with her?"

"A gentleman never tells."

"Oh, fuck. _Seriously_ , Pete? You're fucking William's baby sister. Do you have a death wish?"

"She's an adult."

" _He's not_." Gabe exhales roughly. "But it's over?"

"I think so. I got all weird. Er. Weirder. We…I was out with Ash and Bronx and we ran into her."

"And?"

"And I was weird."

"How were you weird?"

"Well, I mean, I…just…I've never had a girlfriend, you know? I mean…"

"You freaked out."

"Yes." He slumps back on the couch again, looking at his wrist. It's a little discolored. "She hung up on me."

"Did she break up with you?"

"I don't know really." He laughs sadly. "God, I'm such a fuck-up."

"Stop that."

"She probably wasn't even bothered. I probably fucked it up by being insane."

"Pete." Gabe's voice is sharp, stopping him, cutting through the fog of self-recrimination. "Okay, let's look at this. She knows you're you."

"Well…yeah?"

"And she knows what you're like."

"I'm sure she has a vague idea. I mean, I've tried to be on my best behavior."

"No downswings?"

"Not yet."

"But she's Bill's sister."

Pete frowns, not sure he likes the direction Gabe's going. "You keep reminding me of that."

"It's kind of key."

"Not really. I mean, I'm dating her, not him."

"Anyway. She knows how Bill is, so she has an idea of what it's like being around a crazy musician."

"So I'm okay because she's used to my crazy?"

"She's used to crazy. Your brand is actually really special."

"But I'm overreacting."

"It's possible." Gabe laughs softly. "What'd she say, little man?"

"She'd call me tomorrow."

"That doesn't sound like she broke up with you. It sounds like she thought maybe you both needed a few hours."

"Maybe. Did I tell you I broke my phone?"

"Mm-hmm. How's she going to call you, Pete?"

"I maybe didn't think about that."

"Does she have your home number?"

"No."

"So you're going to hang up with me and go to sleep. Tomorrow after ten, you call her."

"I could get the phone replaced by then."

"Pete? Sleep."

"Right. Sleep."

"Pete."

"Okay. Okay." He turns off the TV and stares at the gray screen. "Thanks, Gabe."

"Anytime, little man."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Night." He doesn't hang up right away. He always waits a few minutes and lets Pete just hear him breathe. "Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Courtney Beckett, man. That's the greatest fucking score ever."

"She's really amazing."

"Bill's going to kill you."

"Maybe." He smiles. "She's worth it."

"Goodnight, Wentzy."

"Night."

**

He wakes up at noon, his head pounding and his eyes glued shut with sleep. The doorbell is pealing incessantly and he rubs his eyes to try to clear them, stumbling over a couple pairs of shoes before he trips up the stairs and hits the door before he manages to wrench it open. "What?"

"I've called ten times." Courtney shoves him back against the door. He's busy rubbing his eyes, so it takes him a minute to realize she looks like shit - worried and shaken and unkempt. "Why the _fuck_ didn't you answer?"

"I…my phone." She punches him hard on the arm. "Ow!"

"Ten times, Pete. Are you not answer because you're pissed at me? Fuck. I didn't know…I was…I was _scared_."

"Scared?"

"That you were avoiding me. That you were…that you didn't want to see me. That you…that you were…"

It takes a few minutes for what she's not saying to sink through his sluggish brain. "Oh. Oh! No. God, no, Court. I'm not…no. I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not suicidal. Or even…I have Bronx now. I'd never…"

"Well, I didn't know." She backs away from him against the wall, biting her lower lip.

"I wouldn't." He shakes his head and steps toward her. "I was upset last night. I threw my phone and broke it." He reaches out, stroking her jaw with his thumb. "I wouldn't, Courtney."

"I was scared. I don't want…I don't want something to happen to you."

"I won't. It won't." He closes the distance between them and nuzzles her mouth before kissing her. "I'm right here."

"Your…" She half-laughs, half-sobs. "Your breath is awful."

He laughs too, kissing her again. "I'll shower and brush my teeth."

"Not yet."

"No?" He moves closer, sliding his hands along her back, under her shirt.

"Need you." She kisses him, hard and hungry. "Need you, Pete."

Heat and relief surge through him and he reaches out to close the door. "Yes. Fuck, yes. So much." He pulls her away from the wall and up the stairs, using them to eliminate the height difference between them. "Don't want to lose you."

"Then stop thinking everything means I'm going to go. I want to be here. I want to be with you."

He kisses her in response, not trusting words, and guides her into the bedroom and onto the bed.

**

She's on the bed, dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, when he comes back from the shower. He stops in the doorway and looks at her, her hair loose and hanging around her shoulders, her clothes scattered around his room.

"We should tell Bill," he says. She glances up at him, her brow arched. He shrugs. "I was drunk last night. Told Gabe."

"Oh." She tugs her knees up toward her chest, distracting him for a few moments, and he has to play catch-up when he realizes she's waiting for an answer.

"W-what'd he say? It was pretty evenly divided between 'are you crazy, Bill's going to kill you' and 'you're fucking kidding me, she's the holy grail of people to nail.'" He shakes his head as her eyebrows lift. "His words, not mine. Sort of. I might be paraphrasing."

"So before Bill kills you, we should have really amazing sex."

"That was his opinion."

"I'll call Bill from here. You can listen, but you probably shouldn't say anything. You two have a bad habit of lighting fuses around each other."

He comes over to the bed and stretches out beside her, running a finger along her thigh. "He's really going to hate it?"

"Would you want your sister dating the king of the scene, multi-million dollar rock star with an ex-wife, a kid and a well-documented history of mental issues and putting his entire personal life on display in his lyrics for all to see and hear?"

"No."

"Would your sister date him anyway?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe." His fingers slide higher, teasing the hem of her shirt. His wrist still aches, but not as bad as he thought it might.

"Bill's sister would."

He smiles and kisses her knee. "I like you way better than my sister." He frowns. "Wow, that got full of weird connotations damn fast."

"It's like a skill you have." She reaches out, combing her fingers through his hair. "You're sure?"

"Yeah." He kisses her knee again then rests his head on it, looking at her. "I'm where I want to be, and I'm okay with people knowing."

"That's not the wholehearted endorsement I was looking for, Wentz."

He wrinkles his nose as she taps the tip of it. "I want people to know I'm with you."

"All people?"

He nods and closes his eyes, leaning against her and letting his breathing fall in time with hers. "Let's start with Bill, okay? Work our way up to Ash?"

"Your ex-wife and my brother. There's that weirdness again." She takes a deep breath and picks up her phone from the bedside table. She closes her eyes for a moment, and Pete wants to stop her, wants to keep everything from changing. She doesn't look at him, but she smiles. "Okay?"

"Yeah." He smiles. He's getting used to change. "Let's freak Bilvy out."

"You're mean." She turns her attention to the phone. Pete listens through the familiar buzz of conversation, trying to ignore the tension coiling in his muscles. They're talking about the new album, about Evie, about in-jokes. He learns a few things he doesn't know, like how Bill teases her about her Dr Pepper addiction, and how she blushes when he calls her Noodle. Pete files it away like secrets, smiling at seeing a different side of her.

"So, anyway, as enthralling as it is hearing about you and Mike doing the musical equivalent of the Vulcan mind meld, there's actually a reason I called." She reaches for Pete's hand and squeezes tight. "Well, you know how Mike always said Sisky and I were going to die weird cat-women?"

Pete chokes back a laugh and Courtney makes a face at him.

"Yeah. Yeah. You're a riot. No. Just Sisky now. I'm seeing someone." She's quiet for a few moments, and Pete can't hear William through the receiver, but he can tell whatever it is isn't what Courtney wants to hear. "Yes, I think so. Because I'm telling you, and I don't tell you about all the people I hook up with."

Pete cocks an eyebrow and mouths the word, 'All?'

Courtney shrugs. "Yes, William. I know how it works." She sighs, annoyance creeping in. "Yes. Even that part."

Pete squeezes her hand again and smiles at her, encouraging. He's not sure if she sees it, since she seems to be focused on whatever Bill's saying.

"Considering you had a kid by the time you were my age, I think it's more the pot calling the kettle black than the voice of experience." Her voice is rough, and Pete presses another kiss to her knee for reassurance. "Yeah, Bill. Yeah. I know." She shakes her head. "Thanks for your congratulations and support. Pete and I appreciate it."

Bill's voice is a garbled squawk, distorted by the phone. Courtney holds it away from her, giving Pete a rueful smile. William's almost back to making things that might be syllables when Courtney hangs up.

"So. He took that well."

Pete raises both eyebrows. "I'd hate to see him take it badly."

She flops down on the bed, shirt falling across her stomach. He traces the smooth skin just below her navel to the pale blue panties. She turns her head and gives him a sad smile. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Well, I kind of screwed up the whole do this like an adult and have the upper hand thing."

"He just screamed incoherently at you. I think you're still the mature one." He shifts onto his stomach and kisses her hip. "He sounded kind of pissed."

"Yeah." She combs her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. "He'll calm down. Call and freak out at Mike, Gabe, or Travie. Christine will tell him to stop acting like a child, he'll call and threaten you, and then it'll be fine."

He closes his eyes, moving into her touch. She sets her phone down and brings her other hand to his head. Pete groans low and hot, crawling on top of her, pressing kisses to her stomach. "Harder."

She laughs, the sound shaky and thick, as she scratches harder, scraping lines from his brow to the nape of his neck. He shudders and sucks at her skin, his fingers working at the waistband of her panties.

"Fuck, Court. Off. Off. C'mon."

She arches up and he slides them over her ass, moving just enough to get them down her legs. She wriggles beneath him, kicking them off finally so he can spread her open, nibbling wet kisses up the inside of her thigh.

"Pete. G-god. Wh-what if he c-calls back?"

"Can leave a message." He brushes the tips of his fingers along her skin then uses his thumbs to open her up. She smells heady, and she's slick and wet for him. "Shit." He licks up the length of her, tongue tracing her opening before moving up to her clit, teasing over it.

"A-a-ah." She groans thickly and he loses himself in her, tongue tracing every surface, every curve. She moves beneath him, spreading her legs wider, bending her knees. "P-pete."

He finds a rhythm somewhere between taking his time and pushing her over the edge. Everything is a blur in the hot sound of her moans and curses. Her hands are still on his head, and his body jerks with a rough jolt of pleasure and pain as she comes, digging her nails into his scalp.

"C'mon. C'mon." She's tugging now, pulling Pete on top of her. "Fuck me. C'mon." His cock leaves a wet trail on her inner thigh, and she bites his collarbone, sucking his skin between her teeth.

"Fuck. God. Condom. Jesus, Court." He fumbles for the strip of them on the table as her teeth scrape his skin. "Fuck."

She pushes him off her and he sprawls on the bed in surprise. She takes the condom before he can recover, opening it and stroking it onto him. He tenses, holding himself in check as her fingers tease the base of his shaft.

"Don't fu-fucking tease. Please."

She moves over him, hand wrapped around him as she guides him inside her. Pete's hands curl around the underside of the headboard as he pushes up. The shirt she's wearing settles back against her body, the black bartskull outline falling against her lower abdomen like a reflection of his tattoo. He bites his lower lip hard, teeth sinking in as he braces his feet on the bed and starts thrusting in earnest. Courtney's knees dig into his sides, and her fingers rake up and down his chest, nails catching and teasing at his hard nipples.

Her body tightens around him, and Pete forgets everything else as she grips his shoulders for support, just feeling the tight heat as she rides him harder. He reaches blindly for her hips and steals the rhythm from her, feeling her tremble through another orgasm.

He slams his head back against the mattress as his hips jerk up, his fingers gripping her hips hard enough to bruise when he finally thrusts up, his body in a hard arch as he comes.

His feet slide down the mattress and he lies there as Courtney slumps on top of him, finding his mouth with hers, with wet, messy, spent kisses. "Mmm." He strokes her long, sweaty hair. "Definitely have t' wait t' tell Ash."

"Mmm. How come?" She murmurs against his chest.

"Need least a day t' recover before I can do that again."

She buries her laugh against his neck. "Love how you think."

He nods and turns his head, guiding her into another kiss. "Mmm," he whispers into her mouth. "Love you too."

**

He wakes up a couple hours later. He doesn't actually remember falling asleep, but the condom is slack against his skin, and he's lying in a wet spot. Pain flares along his clavicle, hard marks sucked in at the tips of several thorns. He makes a face at the condom and strips it off, tossing it into the trash. He uses the still slightly damp towel from his shower to wipe himself off and then sits up, realizing that he's alone.

He goes downstairs and heads to the kitchen. He doesn't want to search the house for her and find her gone, since he's pretty sure he went too far, so he gives himself things to do - get a drink, watch some TV - so he can lie to himself about it if it comes to that.

She's sitting sideways on the couch, legs crossed beneath her. Her head is against the back cushion and her eyes are closed. Her phone is caught between her head and her shoulder, and she's not quite relaxed, but she's not completely tense either. Pete huffs an unsteady breath at the sight of her, but she doesn't look up, not even when he touches her shoulder.

He moves to the chair opposite her and watches, trying to read her expression. Her face is carefully blank as she listens, and she hasn't said a word since he's been close enough to hear. He shifts in the chair and she opens her eyes to look at him. He waves and she smiles, glancing in the direction of the phone and rolling her eyes.

"Everything okay?" He asks softly.

She nods and then shrugs, and Pete moves over to the couch, sitting beside her. He traces a mindless pattern on her knee as she keeps listening. He can hear the voice on the other end, just tone and inflection. She reaches out, her fingers rubbing over the back of his hand.

"Bill," she finally speaks, her voice soft but strong. "I hear you. I have listened and heard everything you have to say. I understand all of your concerns. Now I want you to listen to me and let me have my say, just like I let you have yours. I'm not an idiot. I didn't go into this blindly. I know he's divorced. I know he has a kid. I know he's Pete Wentz." She moves closer to Pete, turning so she can lean back against him, her back to his chest. He wraps his arms around her and presses her face to his neck. "He makes me happy, William. Makes me smile. He treats me like I'm something precious. I mean, he's kind of an idiot sometimes, but I think that's true of all men."

Pete teases her skin lightly, careful not to tickle her. Courtney shrugs and looks over her shoulder at him. He grins because it's true. "He said he loves me, Bill."

Pete closes his eyes and nods, because he did say it, because - even if he never meant for it to happen, to go this far - he does love her.

She's quiet and Pete pulls her closer still. He can hear the rumble of William's voice, and he can hear Courtney's soft reply, "Yes."

Pete grabs the phone from her. "She'll call you right back, Bill." He hangs up before either she or William can protest. She jerks out of his arms, glaring angrily at him as she turns to face him.

"What was that bullshit?" She pokes him hard in the chest. "If you think you're going to get high-handed with me, you're more than wrong, especially if you think I'm just going to-"

He stops her, pressing a finger to her mouth. "Sorry. I just didn't want to hear you say that for the first time about us - me - to your brother."

"And what was I going to say, Wentz?" Her voice is sharp and tight, but he can hear it shaking slightly, a tremor of nervousness.

"I was…hoping that maybe you felt - feel - the same." He smiles weakly, his own nerves setting in. "Maybe I'm wrong. I could be wrong. I mean, maybe you were going to tell Bill that…"

"I love you."

Pete inhales sharply, all the air in the room trapped in his lungs. He closes his eyes, unable to look at her for a long moment. Her breath shudders out of her, and he smiles, meeting her wide eyes.

"I mean, I think. I've never loved someone before. I mean, my family and friends and stuff, and I've fucked people, but I don't think any of those were love, and Bill's absolutely right that this is madness, because you're you and…" She cuts herself off and smiles at him, big and bright and happy. "Thinking about you kind of makes me want to throw up."

"I…what?"

"In a good way! In a 'my stomach is churning with excitement and anticipation' sort of way."

"I make your stomach churn?" She nods, still smiling, and Pete laughs happily, suddenly aware that maybe divorce just _felt_ like the end of the world, maybe it was just the end of something and the start of something new. "Courtney Beckett, I think that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me."

"Silver tongues run in the family."

He waggles his eyebrows. "I know."

She shrieks and laughs and pins him to the bed, kissing him hard. "You'd best just be talking about his singing, you know."

"I don't kiss and tell."

"No," she laughs, kissing him again. "You just write songs about it and make Patrick or Bebe tell for you."

"Don't give away all my secrets."

She shakes her head and smiles, tracing his lower lip. "You and your secrets are safe with me."

**

"You know, you could have just made Carden put on clown makeup and saved yourself some money."

Pete glances away from the juggling clown as Courtney snaps a picture. "Yeah, except the goal is to _not_ make the children cry."

"Right. Right. I always forget that part." She trains her camera on some of the kids, and Pete can see the way she maneuvers the shot to cut out the semi-circle of nannies.

"It's a part of their life," he reminds her.

"It's not an indictment." She shrugs, still taking pictures. "These are photos of the kids at Bronx's party. That's who he's going to care about, remember?"

"I know."

"But if you want, I can get a picture of you, Ashlee, and the nanny later, sell it to the tabloids, and start vicious kinky rumors about you."

"You're the meanest person I know."

"No, I'm not; you know Perez Hilton," she reminds him with the hint of her smile showing from behind the camera. "And Mike Carden."

"Man, what did Carden ever do to you? You need to tell me so I can never ever do it."

She pulls the camera away and gives him a _wicked_ grin. "You have your secrets; I have mine."

"I'm his boss. He'll tell me."

"Yeah?" She leans in and drops a quick kiss on his cheek. "Who do you think he's more afraid of? You or me?"

"I don't think I like you anymore."

"No?" She moves in for another kiss and he turns his head to meet her mouth with his. It's soft and light and easy, and Pete knows it promises things to come.

"Nope. Not at all." He grins into the kiss. "Not even a little tiny bit."

"You two are disgusting, you know."

Courtney pulls back and gives Ashlee a little smile. "Guilty as charged."

Pete squeezes her hand before letting her head off to follow the kids and the clown to the bouncy house. Ashlee steps up beside him, and Pete knows it's deliberately taking Courtney's space, even if Ash isn't doing it consciously.

"Is she charging you for the time?"

"We have an arrangement."

"One that involves the exchange of bodily fluids?"

Her tone is mostly civil, trying for teasing, which is an improvement. Telling her about Courtney had been his own personal version of hell - slurs and threats and accusations followed by vindictiveness, apologies, silence, and then more apologies. But never quite acceptance or forgiveness.

"If it was, it still wouldn't be any of your business, Ash." She looks away and Pete can feel the familiar sting of guilt.

Pete watches Bronx and forces himself to get through a whole _Yo Gabba Gabba_ song in his head before he says anything. This is old hat by now. They've talked about it. They've fought about it. They've torn it up one side and down the other, and they've both sworn they're not going to do it anymore. They still keep doing it, knowing what buttons to push and what words pour salt into wounds.

But today is Bronx's birthday, and they both made promises that Bronx comes first, that today is about him. She knows Pete's history as well as he does.

"Sorry. I was out of line." He blows out a breath and she frowns, and glances at Pete. Maybe she knows it's not enough. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks. "She's not like me."

"I know," he whispers back. "But I don't need her to be. I have a you. We're still friends. Still in each other's life. Still Bronx's parents. I don't need another you, Ashlee."

"Well…good." She watches the kids, not looking at Courtney, not looking at him. "Because I'm an original."

"One of a kind."

"Damn right."

He tucks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "Loving her doesn't mean I didn't love you."

She bites her lower lip and averts her eyes. Pete follows her gaze, staring at the shimmery pink of her toenails. "Loved."

"What?"

"You loved me."

"Well…yeah. That's not actually in question here, is it?" He tilts his head curiously, trying to read what he can see of her expression.

"No. No. Just. Past tense."

Pete exhales roughly and jerks his head to the side, not looking at her. "Okay, this isn't the time or the place, but _you_ left me. Your decision to go. You walked out."

"I know."

"You don't get to be upset or angry that I kept living. You don't get to be mad that someone else saw value in what you left behind. I _died_ inside, Ashlee. I thought everything had to be a lie because I _believed_ in the fairy tale, in the happily every after. I believed and it wasn't true, and I thought I'd never get _any_ of this back, but I did, and I'm _not_ going to be sorry for it."

"Hey." Gabe comes up between them, looping an arm around Pete's shoulder and guiding him a few steps away. "I heard a rumor that little kid birthday parties are all cake and ice cream and rotting your teeth. All I've seen is a veggie tray and the jar of salsa Ryland slipped on the table. I'm feeling seriously cheated here."

"You're just hoping for a goody bag." Ashlee's voice trembles slightly, but Pete sees her jaw, thrust out defiantly.

"You know it. Clandestine shirts, Decaydance CDs, tequila and condoms, right?"

Ashlee laughs and Pete leans on Gabe slightly. "Try Bob the Builder toys and Spongebob bubbles."

"No Dora? No Diego? No Handy Manny?" Gabe sighs dramatically. "Oppressing my people, man."

"That was Bronx's special request, actually. Oppress Gabe's people, mom. Keep the brown man down."

"Gabe likes going down."

"Pete!" Ashlee laughs.

"Well, he _does_."

"Gay above the waist was a total lie, wasn't it?" Gabe guides them both toward the heart of the party. "Go get the cake, PWeezy. Ash and I will round up the rugrats and get them herded in your direction."

Pete takes the out, slipping across the patio and through the sliding glass door to the cool air of the house. The silence is heavy in the living room and into the kitchen.

"Here." Courtney's perched on a bar stool at the counter, an open beer in her hand.

"You're like a ninja."

"Yup." She wraps her arm around his waist and presses her forehead to his back. "You okay?"

"Not really."

"I could go."

"No." He turns, wrapping one arm around her, her head now against his chest. "I want you here."

She kisses just above his heart. "Drink your beer. I'll get the cake ready then go and get into prime photo position."

"That sounds kind of dirty."

She laughs and stands up, her body sliding against his as she presses close. It feels good. Warm and right and comfortable. "Only to you." She leans in and kisses him. "It's going to be okay."

He looks up at her and nods. It may not be what it was and this may not be what it will be, but she's right. "Yeah. It will."


End file.
